The Sound of Deduction
by SweetLoveWriter
Summary: Alice Reynolds moves to London with one question. She wants to know who she really is. Why she is so different from all the other people she knows. How she can read them in mere seconds. How she can skim through books and know every word by heart. How she becomes fluent in languages within hours and why she loves being alone.
1. Leaving Home

Chapter 1: Leaving Home

'No mum, I want to know!'

Alice threw her suitcase on the floor, her face red with anger. Her mother in front of her, her eyes dark. She wasn't moving.

'You can't'

Bullshit, Alice thought, I need to know, I want to know, I have a right to know, so how can it be so hard? She immediately spoke her mind and yelled:

'Why!?'

Her mother took a deep breath, and Alice suddenly realised it was harder than she thought it was. Her mother was always so sure of herself, this was not something she'd usually do, unless it was actually hard for her to say. Alice's face softened and she stared at her mother, who was visibly looking for the correct words. And when she had eventually found them, she took a deep breath. Alice stared at her constantly, trying to penetrate her soul to see what she was trying to say, what she had been trying to hide for such a long time.

'He doesn't know you exist.'

Alice stumbled back a little, hitting the edge of her bed. She sat down on the perfectly straight sheets, crumpling them. She couldn't care less, she never cared for her bed to be made, that was her mother. She stared at her hands, which were resting on her thighs, still stunned, trying to completely regain her senses and her voice, failing to understand how she didn't see through this lie earlier.

'But... but you said...'

'I know what I said Alice, I lied.'

Lie to me, LIE TO ME, Alice's head was spinning, she always noticed it when people were lying to her, always. And the one person she trusted enough not to check for lies, turned out to be the one who had been lying to her for years.

'Alice.'

Her head shot up, her eyes shooting fire, her head suddenly clear and the knuckles of her hands turned white as the tightened them into fists. Her mother just looked at her with a worried expression. Worried, she always looked worried, Alice thought, but that couldn't stop her from being white hot with anger.

'Why!'

The young mother was startled by her daughters' yell, but she regained her senses quickly enough, she had gotten used to the tantrums over the years. With a soft smile on her face she walked towards Alice, who was still trying to burn her mother with her eyes.

'My dear girl, how do you tell a seven year old that her father has no idea she exists. I didn't want to hurt you, so I lied. That was wrong of me, and I'm sorry, but at the time it was the right thing to do, believe me. I never thought it would come to this. I know you want to know him, but maybe it is not the best idea... I mean, you know nothing about him... what he is actually like...'

She was now close enough to sit down on the bed and did so, she wrapped her arms around Alice, pulling her closer, an embrace that was not returned, Alice was still looking at her mother, whose face was now really close, but her expression hadn't changed.

'Maybe it is for the best that he doesn't know. Maybe you should just forget him. You still have me. You'll always have me, and we can be together, just the two of us...'

'NO!'

Alice pulled her arms up, allowing her to push her mother's arms away, she stood up and quickly turned around, the loose bun holding her long, curling, dark brown hair loosening even more, a few strands had already fallen out.

'No! I will not stay here and forget him. If I do, I'll never understand why I am who I am! You always tell me I am just like him, how can I understand one bit of myself if I have to completely forget the one person I actually resemble, the one person who could possibly understand me without asking millions of questions first!'

She ended her talk breathing heavily, leaning forward towards her mother, who was still staring at her. But when Alice looked again, she could read in her mothers' eyes she had won and she had to suppress the urge of smiling slyly at her own accomplishment. If she really wanted something, she could always talk her mother to it. Not by begging, not by pleading, but by saying just the things that would push her mother's buttons, which normally involved self-reflections and self-discovery things her mother had learned during her feng shui times.

The young mother hung her head and stared at her hands, copying the position Alice had had a few minutes earlier, only a moment later, her head slowly rose and she looked her daughter in the eye again.

'So... y-you really want to go then?'

Alice nodded, just a short nod, but her mother had already seen it and looked back at the floor.

'Then... then I can't force you to stay.'

Alice smiled slyly, no longer suppressing her feeling of victory. The smile disappeared again when her mother looked up and rose. She slowly moved towards Alice, almost dragging her feet forward, not willing to move and not willing to talk. It took her some time before she regained her voice. Eventually she looked up again, right in front of Alice.

'You leave tomorrow then, otherwise I might change my mind.'

Alice nodded and smiled a genuine smile, she had already bought a train ticket ready for tomorrow, though her mother didn't know that. Her mother still looked at her, the tears again burning in her eyes, and it would not be long before they would start falling on her perfectly ironed blouse.

'And Alice...'

Alice focused on her mother again.

'I don't want you to think that I don't want you to meet your father. All I ever wanted was to protect you from him, he... he is not like any other men.'

Alice grinned.

'Mum, am I like any other girl?'

Her mother shook her head, attempting to suppress a smile, and failing.

'You don't understand my girl. Your father...'

She turned towards the window, Alice looked at her mother, surprised, again this hesitation, what made her mother so uncertain about this man?

'Your father is not like any other... his IQ is... immense.'

'Like mine.'

A short laugh, but then it silence filled the room again.

'He is not a person to really care for other people's feelings. He enjoys scientific experiments, chemical experiments, medical experiments, crimes...'

'So he likes to experiment, what is wrong with that?'

Alice smiled, she liked to experiment to, not necessarily with dead bodies or chemicals, but she understood why he loved crime, so did she. Then her mother suddenly turned around, her arms folded around her body, her eyes red with tears, but shooting fire.

'That is all he cares about Alice! Nothing else!'

Alice was startled and stumbled back a little upon seeing and hearing her mother, who took a deep breath to calm down before she continued to talk.

'He enjoys crimes, and not like an interest. To him it's the only way to stop him from being bored, which is always, since he finds all people boring, placid and not worth his time.'

'But, mum, how... how did you know him?'

Her mother seemed to wake up from her strain of thought and looked at her daughter again.

'Your father doesn't care for emotions, he never shows them and is repulsed by everyone who does. We lived in the same area, we kind off grew up together. But I only know him as being closed off. When I was seventeen, two years older than you are now, it seemed as if I got closer to him. His brother had left for London not long before that and it seemed like he was finally opening up...'

She kept quiet for a while, but then went on.

'But I was wrong, I guess. Even though he never showed emotions, he was well equipped in faking them. One night I gave in to his seduction...'

Another moment of silence.

'It was an experiment to him, but to me it was the most perfect night of my life.'

She smiled and Alice did the same thing, but then the smile on her mother's face faded.

'Two days later I went by his house, hoping to see him again. But he was gone, he had moved to London, to his brother, leaving me without even saying goodbye...'

'And a few weeks later you found out you were pregnant with me.'

Her mother looked up at her daughter and walked towards her, wrapping her arms around her. Alice didn't know what to do for a while, but then she wrapped her arms around her mother as well, who smiled at the touch.

'I have always loved you Alice, ever since I found out I was pregnant. Even when I had to move far away from the place I grew up to avoid the scandal I had created. And even when I found out you were more like him than I had anticipated.'

She released her daughter from the embrace and looked her in the eye.

'I can't stop you from looking for him, but I cannot support you in your search.'

Alice nodded, she could understand why, and maybe she was even glad that her mother wasn't coming with her. She really loved her mother, but she had to find this man on her own.

'You cannot face him.'

Her mother nodded. After a moment of silence, the young mother turned around and walked towards the bedroom door, in the doorway she stoped and turnedvaround.

'Make sure you have packed everything, my dear girl. I'll put you on the train to London tomorrow morning, to say goodbye, but from then, you are on your own.'

Alice nodded and her mother left the room, closing the door behind her. She stood there for a while, not moving, only breathing. Then she quickly turned, a smile on her face. She grabbed her suitcase and opened it, even though she knew everything was already in there. She closed it again and picked it up. She walked towards her desk and sat down. In front of her lay a big mess of papers and files, as always. She didn't care about cleaning up, because in this mess was everything she needed and in her opinion, it was logical. The only thing she did have was a small book in which she kept all her interesting observations and in which she drew everything that popped into her mind, which were normally strings of words. It was filled with pencil drawings and quotes she once read or saw, of everything. She picked up a pen and started writing.

The next morning it would be early when she would walk into the station. Her mother would cry. She would pretend to actually care, not really knowing how. Once she would be on the train she would lock herself up with her music, she could listen to the same song for days on end and not get sick of it, as long as it was good music.

With her little book in her hand, she would start looking around her compartment, observing all the people there. With her pencil she would draw things, quotes that described the people she saw. Every once in a while she would look out the window, watching the landscape change and fly by. This was the way to her destiny, the destiny of Alice Scarlet Reynolds, the way to London, the way to her father and the way to where her world would get made.


	2. Deductions in Russell Square

Chapter 2: Deductions in Russell Square

While the train passed through the landscape of England, towards the south, to London, Alice watched the landscape shoot by. Her little book filled with little drawings. The couple in the booth across the aisle was still sitting there with their arms entangled, they had been in that position for over half an hour. Alice just smiled and opened her book again, looked at the quotes she used for the couple again and then turned some pages back, where one name shone in the otherwise blank page. It was her fathers' name, but she didn't know anything about him except for his name, and some things she'd rather not write down, since they were not supposed to be known to her. That's why the pages were blank. But now she grabbed her pencil and started drawing some words close to his name.

A "high IQ", like her, she didn't care about school, everything she was taught there was useless to her. Who cared that the earth revolved around the sun, or what the subject of a sentence was? The only thing she cared for was observing. People. She couldn't be around them, talking wasn't her favorite thing. She never knew what to say or how to act. Should someone attempt to make direct eye contact with her, she would lose her entire ability to speak. Only people she really trusted she would look in the eye, and those people could be counted on one hand.

All she wanted to do was observe people from a distance and write down everything she could about them. Once people would talk to her, and she was forced to talk back, she would know everything about them, and she was always right. She could estimate their questions, predict what they were going to say and sometimes even their actions. That made her smile. Then she wrote down "crime", she didn't know yet what her father did with crime, but it was important. She always tried to look out for the local crimes, not simply to solve them, but again to observe people, to create a profile for the suspect and sometimes she could even help the local police force, a bunch of men who couldn't do anything by themselves, in catching the criminal with that profile.

She put her pencil down again, she knew nothing else about her father. But maybe the internet did. With a sly grin Alice grabbed her laptop from her bag and opened it, she opened internet and typed her fathers' name, immediately a site popped up. She clicked the link and was redirected to a site. She smiled and picked up her book and pencil again. "The Science of Deduction".

Alice had never given a name to her way of working, but she did the same thing when trying to predict the questions of people. She always observed and deduced what would be the only possible question a certain person would ask in a certain situation. They could be weird questions at times, but they were often the right ones.

The final thing she wrote down was "Consulting Detective", next to "Crime". With a smile on her face she closed the book after taking one last glance at it, she knew more about her father already, and all the other things would come later. She scrolled down on the website and noticed an address, 29 Montague Street, and a phone number. She smiled again, then closed and put away her laptop.

She knew enough, she grabbed her phone and put the phone number in there. She looked out the window again, in the reflection she saw the couple kissing. She focussed on the landscape, which was gradually becoming more urban. Of all emotions a person could feel, she could never quite understand love. No matter how much she observed it, she didn't understand why people enjoyed kissing and being together at all times, holding hands and cuddling. It would not be long now, not long before she would arrive in London at last, she followed the changes in the landscape.

After another hour, the train stopped at the station, Alice was already in front of the door and stepped out, with her backpack and her small suitcase. She didn't bring much, she didn't have much to bring, and everything she couldn't bring and needed in the future, she could buy again. Through a crowd of people she slowly moved towards the exit, St Pancras station, London. It won't be long until she would be in the centre of London, near the hotel where she would be staying for a couple of weeks, after that, she had to find her own place, or go back home. In the hotel she would think about where to go next, what to do in order to get into contact with her father. After 15 years, she would finally meet him, at least, that was what she hoped.

A little while later Alice was sitting in her hotel room, her suitcase open on the second bed of the room and the clothes disorganised. Alice had turned her back on the suitcase and looked out of the window, while she slowly moved her bow across the strings of her violin. With her eyes closed she listened to the music coming from the violin, nothing known, nothing she had heard before, she composed on the spot.

That was usually her way of working, she felt a certain way, and that was reflected in her playing, either on the violin, which she had taught herself, or the piano. Her mother had sent her out for lessons for that instrument, but she quit after she had learned the basics, now she only did what she wanted to play, either pre-composed or improvised. She opened her eyes and looked out the window, which didn't show much else than a road and other windows, so she closed her eyes again.

Suddenly the playing stopped and she put her violin down. She grabbed her phone from a table and sat down next to her suitcase, she opened a new message to the phone number from the website and started typing:

Dear Sir  
I have something to tell you  
Please come to Russel Square  
in one hour  
I'll find you  
ASR

She hit send and grabbed her bag, she pulled out her book, pencil, eraser and headphones. She plugged the headphones into her phone, selected a playlist and put her coat on, a black coat with an oversized hood, her perfect way to hide from people looking, and the perfect way to look at them without being noticed. She put everything in her pockets, grabbed the key to her room and walked towards the door. She closed it behind her and started the walk towards Russell Square, close to Montague Street, where her father was living according to the site. For her it was a 40-minute walk.

With her headphones on she moved through the crowd, listening to music everybody her age would listen to, with some older songs mixed in between. But she wasn't really listening, she just couldn't function without music, either on her headphones, or in her head, she needed music, always. She slowly got her book out of her pocket, followed by her pencil and while walking through the streets of London she created little profiles for all the people she passed. A fraction of a second was enough, clothing, body language and actions when passing said so much about a person. With her pencil sometimes blindly scribbling on the paper, she drew and wrote on the paper.

After 37 minutes she entered Russell Square, she was fast. She slowed down her pace and looked around, before standing still in the middle of a field, underneath a large oak tree. Her eyes followed various people. A man sitting on a bench holding a newspaper. He was a doctor, judging by the pager on his belt, the coffee next to him gave away he had been doing a night shift, morning shift and was about to go in again. He was a surgeon, a heart surgeon to be exact.

The music continued to plays as Alice wrote down everything she saw about the man when her attention was drawn to a man who was standing a few feet away. Observing. Like her. His coat long, but a suit visible underneath. No tie. Neat, not chic. The collar of his coat up. Mysterious. Hiding his face, His cheekbones, which were still very visible. Clearly avoiding the looks from others when he observes them. Like Alice. His hair dark and curly, styled into perfection, but seemingly chaotic, like her. He liked dogs, he looked at every dog, not showing his affection, but Alice could see it anyway. Sternly observing everybody who passed him, like she did. Not writing. Showing no emotion, but clearly appalled by all the emotion around him. Not social. Apparently not looking for affection or contact with others. Never making eye contact with anyone. Alice's focus changed to his hands, the parts of a body that gave away so much information about a person, but hardly anybody knew that. It showed her she was looking at a heavy smoker, addict for years now, 2 packs a day on a light day, but he was picky about his brands. There were two packs in the pockets of his coat, two different brands. One was crumpled and clearly empty, but the other one was still sealed shut. And even though the man's hands were twitching and clearly longing for another cigarette, he did not give in and kept the package of the wrong brand sealed shut in the coatpocket. Then she noticed the stains from cocaine use, not very recent, but still visible. Then Alice noticed something that made her smile. Violin player.

She closed her book, she already knew who she had been observing all this time, but she wanted to know more about her father before she would eventually approach him. She put the book away and walked towards the man. She stopped when she was standing next to him and turned around, so they looked in the same direction. For a while there was a tensed silence between them, then the man opened his mouth.

'What do you want?'

Alice kept looking ahead, not very sure what to say. In her head she had had this conversation many times over and over again, but such things never worked out in reality, ever.

'Talk.'

The man seemed surprised by her reaction, but his sternness quickly returned and they continued to stare ahead like two statues. Two observing statues. Constantly observing and making their own deductions, the same deductions, but they didn't know that.

'You wanted to tell me something.'

Alice nodded, then she thought of something and grabbed a picture of her mum she always kept in her book. The man glanced at the book and seemed to be surprised, but then he regained his focus as Alice gave him the picture.

'My mother.'

The man looks at it for a while, apparently not remembering her.

'Missing, dead...'

Alice smiled, a short shake of the head follows.

'She's alive and I know perfectly well where she is.'

The picture was returned to Alice.

'Then what do you need me for.'

Alice looked up for the first time. The man was tall, 6 feet, precisely. With her 5 feet 4 she was short compared to him.

'I don't do deals with children, so this better be good, girl.'

Alice nodded.

'My mother raised me alone, I am here to find my father.'

The man turned up his nose.

'Find a father. Fine, what do you have on him?'

Alice turned towards him, facing him 'en profile'.

'Look at me.'

The man's eyes grew larger, but then they moved towards her, without moving any other muscle in his entire body.

'Yes.'

Alice looked harder at him.

'What is my father like? Try it. Deduce it.'

The man released an irritated sigh, then he turned around to face her.

'Look, little girl, I need to use my brain for the more interesting parts of life, not just on any little girl in the park who...'

'Deduce it.'

He stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then he opened them again and stared her right in the eye.

'You're father walked out on your mother way before you were born, considering her age it seems to me she was your age when she had you, making your father a teenager as well. The fact that he walked out on your mother probably had nothing to do with you. Considering you're here you have got the information he lives in London, and considering your clearly genetic bluntness and boldness to just order me around...'

He stopped for a while, trying to indicate his annoyance, but Alice didn't care, she just smiled.

'You're father should make a proper policeman or detective, or maybe even a politician. His looks should resemble yours in your hair and face, but not that much in anything else, since you look a lot like your mother.'

Alice smiled, he had just been describing himself, not completely accurate, but in a way. Now, she thought, let's make it a little harder on him.

'What about addictions? Smoking, drinking, all that? Relations?'

The man sighed again, but then he continued.

'I can't tell anything about the addictions of your father, but probably, since this is London, he smokes. As for relations, he probably has a new woman, because, clearly he is a man who likes women.'

Alice had to stop herself from bursting into laughter, but the man saw it already.

'Think you can do better?'

Alice looked him straight in the eye, and then nodded. The man stared at her, perplexed, but his seriousness quickly returned.

'Well, go ahead.'

Alice took a deep breath, closing her eyes, mimicking the man in front of her. Then opening her eyes again and looking straight at him.

'My father did walk out on my 17-year-old mother before she even knew she was pregnant. He was also 17 years old at that time. Since he didn't know, it had nothing to do with me, but he wanted to follow his older brother to London, where he lives now. Brother, yeah brother, because that's what my mother told me. But why older, well, he must have been, otherwise his parents would never have agreed on him moving to London at such a young age.

My father is taller than me, and has curly hair, like me, but doesn't look that much like me I guess, otherwise he would have immediately recognized me upon seeing me. My boldness is genetic, yes, but so is my affection for the violin apparently, because my father also plays. His profession is kind of strange to me, but maybe he can clarify that eventually. As for addictions, yes, he smokes, has smoked for years, at least 2 packs a day, but he is very picky about his brands. He also has a cocaine addiction, which about half a year ago almost cost him his life, if it wasn't for his brother to save him. Still he continues to use, not as often and not as much, just to feel good. But otherwise he fills his time with experiments and crime solving, as a substitution, which doesn't always work apparently.

My father doesn't have a new woman, because he is repelled by any sign of emotion, especially love. My father's IQ is insanely high, and he uses is to deduce many things about people, but he wasn't able to deduce that I had already found my father, even before we started this conversation.'

The man stared her straight in the eye, eyes that screamed confusion, but he didn't want to show it, so he hid it behind his sternness.

'Mr Sherlock Holmes, you are a very competent Consulting Detective, whatever that may be, but you couldn't deduce that the girl who asked you for advise about finding her father, just deduced right in front of your eyes, that you are in fact my father.'

 **Edit**

11/4/2018: minor changes made to comply to further research


	3. Results in Montague Street

Chapter 3: Results in Montague Street

Sherlock Holmes stared into the eyes of Alice, who just stared back into his. She knew she had surprised him, but now she had to await his response. Then he seemed to regain his senses and stood up straight.

'That is impossible.'

Alice still looked at him, not really sure what to think, she had just explained everything to him, in immaculate detail, how could he not see that she had been telling the truth?

'I can't possibly be your father.'

Alice didn't blink, and neither did Sherlock. Again they looked like statues, staring each other in the eye, both trying to read each other, trying to guess what the other is thinking, and both failing miserably. Then Sherlock turned up his nose and moved back to his initial position.

'I don't believe you, I don't even know your name.'

Alice turned as well, so they stood in their original positions, now she was getting annoyed. She was stubborn and stern, and she didn't like it now that she had realized who she had inherited it from.

'My name is Alice Scarlet Reynolds, my mother grew up near you and one day, when you were 17 years old, you seduced her into sleeping with you, as an experiment. You got her pregnant, and here I am.'

Sherlock didn't look at her, which annoyed Alice even more, why couldn't he just talk to her, just once, that would be enough. Suddenly, Sherlock turned up the collar of his coat and started to walk.

'I can't help you, goodbye Alice Reynolds.'

Alice was surprised by this sudden action and wanted to follow him, but didn't. Instead she balled her fists and yelled:

'Fine, don't help me. I never understood why I was the way I am, and now I do, and I am glad I am not a copy of the man I resemble. For that I am glad to have my mother, Mr Holmes. At least she keeps me grounded and tells me never to hide my emotions. Because all you are is a pirate who is scared to face the East Wind that is coming to get him and who tries to avoid Death who is waiting for him in Samara!'

Sherlock Holmes suddenly stopped in his tracks, he didn't move a muscle, and remained quiet for quite some time, only two metres away from Alice, since he didn't get very far.

'How do you know this?'

Alice grinmed, this was what she had wanted to achieve, this information had been her wild card. She had read her mother's diary from when she was pregnant with her a year ago. This was something her father had told her mother when they were younger. Obviously it was some sort of secret, never to be told to anyone. Maybe they were things her mother wasn't even supposed to have heard, but only overheard or saw when she was living so near to the Holmes family. Alice had not intended to use it so soon, but if it could make her father listen to her, she didn't see why she wouldn't.

'I read my mother's diary, she wrote a lot about you, she thought you were very interesting when she was younger. Now she's just to embittered by how you treated her.'

Alice remained where she was, staring at the back of Sherlock Holmes, who was still standing straight, she couldn't see his face, but she could predict that it was still stern, but with confused eyes, like when she had been deducing right in front of him that she was his daughter, only a few minutes earlier.

'Come with me.'

Alice's eyes grew wider when the words dawned on her, and then started moving. After a few steps she had caught up with Sherlock, who was in fact still staring ahead, his eyes flustered. When he saw Alice appear in the corner of his eye, he started walking and they moved towards the exit of Russell Square, turning towards Montague Street. Sherlock only looked ahead, no longer caring for the people around him. Alice had also stopped observing, she looked ahead as well, sometimes glancing up at her father. Years she had dreamed of this moment, and it was perfect, just because she was now aware of the fact that there was actually someone who was like her, even if he was as closed off from all people as her mother had told her. When they turned the corner into they Montague Street, Alice started to take in her surroundings again. It was not long though before Sherlock took a sudden turn left, almost hitting Alice off of her feet. She quickly regained her balance and followed Sherlock as he blindly crossed the street towards number 29. He quickly took out a key and rushed up the steps leading to the front door. He opened the door and went in, up the broad stairs with 2 steps at a time towards the flat that was clearly his domain. Alice followed in his tracks, but a bit slower, taking in the great hall of the house, with walls covered in wooden panels, dimly lit by a few ancient looking lights. When she entered the room she noticed all sorts of things. Piles and piles of papers, files and books. A bookcase with hardly any books in it, since they were all over the floor. It looked a lot like Alice's room at home, but then bigger and with more stuff all over the floor and odd things all around. One of which was a skull on the window sill, and next to it a little pile of papers, with a knife stabbed through it, both half hidden behind the curtains. Another thing that caught her eye was the skull of something that looked like a bull, with headphones on, which actually made her chuckle. The second desk in the room was filled with chemical constructions and things that looked like syringe's for cocaine and a Moroccan shoe filled with cigarettes placed in the middle of the table. Sherlock grabbed one of the cigarettes, apparently one of the good brand, and lit it, before pushing some stuff away, grabbing some other things and then putting the cigarette down again. He held out a small cotton bud to Alice, who was still admiring the organized mess.

'Swab some DNA...'

'From the inside of my cheek, sure.'

Alice grabbed the small bud and rubbed it against the inside of her cheek, then handing it back over to Sherlock, who had also swabbed his own DNA. Alice turned around to look around the room again when her eye were caught by something standing in a corner. A violin. She smiled and very slowly walked towards it, observing it from every possible angle. It was an expensive violin, the only thing Sherlock apparently really spend money on. It looked so much better than her own second-hand violin. I wonder if it plays better as well, she thought, while she touched the top of the instrument with a soft finger. She looked back at Sherlock, who was busy doing his research on the two swabs. She smirked and in one smooth move she picked up the violin, placed it on her shoulder and picked up the bow with her other hand. She looked out the window, but then closed her eyes and started to play. A soft tune, just to calm her down. Only now she became aware of how nervous she had been about this meeting, and this was her way of calming down. The music sounded so much better, and the violin was so easy to handle, that she enjoyed playing it even more. She didn't notice Sherlock, who suddenly looked up upon hearing someone playing the violin. When he sees Alice standing there, with her loose bun almost undone, showing her long, brown, curly hair, he had to take a second look, just to make sure it was actually her. Then his eyes went dark, he straightened his back and marched towards the girl, who was still playing with her eyes closed, her ears completely filled with music. She didn't hear Sherlock approaching and was therefore startled, when he suddenly whispered in her ear:

'Put that down...'

Alice looked over her shoulder, but didn't move another muscle. She wasn't scared, and now she could properly look Sherlock in the eye, up close. Eyes that suddenly shot fire. The first emotion he showed, and it was anger of all. He saw the calmness in her look, which made him even more furious.

'Now...'

Slowly the bow went down and Alice released her grip on the violin, put it down in it place and as if she was moving in slow motion and slowly traced her fingers along the instrument. Sherlock's eyes followed every move suspiciously. Suddenly, Alice turned around and looked Sherlock straight in the eye. Without saying a word, she walked passed him towards his laboratory table. There she looked the DNA samples and the corners of her mouth curled up into a sly smile. Sherlock stared at her, but when he saw her looking at the samples, he marched towards her.

'Would you please leave tha...'

He stopped. His attention was caught by the results from the samples. For a moment his eyes were completely blank. He looked at Alice, who looked back.

'You...'

'I didn't want to say I told you so, but...'

Sherlock turned up his nose in annoyance, Alice smiled at it.

'Hey I'm still 15 years old, I have the right to say things like this.'

Sherlock picked up his cigarette, which he had left on the desk, and inhaled deeply, as if it had to calm him down, which it did. Alice still looked at the results in front of her. They proved that her father was actually standing next to her. After a moment of silence a door slams shut downstairs. Sherlock was suddenly brought back to his senses. He quickly put away the cigarette and grabbed the test results, which he put away in a cabinet. Alice just looked at it. Sherlock turned to her, with his regular stern look.

'So, you've proven your point. Now what?'

Alice looked at him, completely stunned by the latest actions of het father.

'I-I-I don't know... I guess we... talk, see what we have in common.'

Sherlock turned up his nose. He really had to stop doing that, Alice thought, it made him look cocky.

'I don't "talk" and certainly not with children.'

Alice was again stunned by his reaction and she quickly dismissed her earlier thought. He didn't just look cocky, he was a cock. But not around her, she was his daughter for goodness sakes. She felt fury flare up inside her.

'You're my father, I came all this way to find you and this is how you treat me? Like I am one of your "clients"? I don't see any now, so I presume you haven't had any good crime to solve lately. That would clarify why you are as agitated as you are. Well, mr. Holmes, let me tell you this. I am not giving up without a fight. I came here to get to know you better and I am stubborn as hell, which, I can deduce, is genetic, so you know I am. But who am I? Just one of your stupid clients who are to boring for you? Well, NEWS FLASH, Mr. Holmes, I may be the one real interesting case in your life. Maybe one of two, if you can ever find it in that cold heart of yours to find someone you love or care for. But as long as that is not the case, I am the only one who can actually understand you and help you and who doesn't tease you and bully you like your brother does. He just entered the house, didn't he? Come and visit you, for whatever reason? Seems you want to hide some things from him. Think he can blackmail you with this information? Or bully you? Tell you yet again that he is "the smart one".'

Sherlock gritted his teeth.

'He does that quite often, doesn't he? Well, you know where to find me Mr. Holmes, if you ever want to have a real companion.'

Alice turned around and walked out the door, down the stairs, where she bumped into a static man in a full three piece suit. He looked a bit like Sherlock, so it had to be his brother. Political official, obviously, and no emotions whatsoever. Where Sherlock was maybe able to fake them or maybe actually feel them, this man was cold as ice. Alice passed by, looking him straight in the eye. The man looks back, but clearly had no idea who had just passed him. He had to have some deductive abilities and he also had to be smart, since he was related to Sherlock and they shared the same house. They had to he on the same thinking level to be able to do as little as cope with each other. But in Alice's opinion, he was just not smart enough, in the way her father was. Alice grinned, opened the front door and walked through it, yelling over her shoulder to the man in the room at the top of the stairs.

'Thank you Mr. Holmes.'


	4. Silent Bonding

Chapter 4: Silent Bonding

The subsequent days, Alice spend her days around the hotel, walking around Hyde Park and through the streets of London, for hours on hours on end. Just writing and listening to music. Every evening would be spend, playing the violin, while trying to think of what her father was doing at that moment. She watched the news, saw some crimes, created profiles for all the criminals, to find out she later that was often right.

But she was bored, so bored. She had called her mother, who had told her to come home, but she didn't want to go home. Even though she had nobody to talk to, she liked London more than the place where she had grown up, in the most northern tip of Scotland, Inverness. She liked how quiet it was, no mother who talked to her constantly, because "otherwise she would be lonely". Who would clean up her room because "otherwise it would become a mess". She liked doing her own thing.

The hotelroom was a mess, an organized mess, the maids never came in there, she would leave her dirty towels in the hall, nobody was allowed into her room, nobody. Eight days after her first meeting with her father, she was sitting on her bed, with her book, looking at all the little profiles she had drawn up in it. It always helped her, no two people were exactly the same, but there were similarities, and if she could find the similarities between someone she didn't know and someone in her book, she could more easily predict their actions and find their flaws. While she flicked through the pages, her playlist was playing at the highest volume.

It was the middle of the afternoon and all the people in the rooms around her had gone into the city centre, so she would bother nobody, not that she particularly cared though. Suddenly her phone started buzzing. Surprised, Alice looked up and rose up from her bed, since her phone was on a desk near the window, and not even near her bed. She picked it up and looked at it. Then her eyes grew big.

Come to Russell Square  
One hour  
Same Place  
SH

Alice smiled and in an instant she had grabbed her book, pencil and headphones and put on her coat. She slammed the door shut and walked out, towards the park where she had met her father for the first time. With her eyes fixed on the people around her and her hands firmly placed in her pockets, she took another route to the park, a longer route, straight through the centre of London.

After almost an hour she entered the park and walked towards the same place she had been standing eight days earlier, underneath the large oak tree she had used to hide from the looks of other people. A long time it stayed quiet and lonely, not that Alice cared though, she liked the silence and being alone. The reason she had never liked her home in Scotland though was that it was too quiet, once you were up in the Highlands, there was nothing to be heard, and it scared the hell out of Alice.

She startled up from her thoughts when she heard the ruffling of the leaves and in the corner of her eyes she saw the tall man in the long coat with the black curls appear. Then the silence returned, minutes of it. But neither of them seemed to care. All they did was look around, deducing people in their minds, sometimes accidentally deducing the same people, with the same deductions. Minutes turned into an hour and even longer, then suddenly Sherlock took out a cigarette and a lighter. Neither of them had moved for over an hour and this sudden movement caught Alice's attention. He lit the cigarette and slowly blew the smoke into the air. Alice just looked up, only moving her eyes. Sherlock met her eyes, but didn't change his expression.

Then they both changed their focus again at the exact same moment. After a couple of hours of pure silence, Alice closed her coat, she was cold, it was almost sunset and though time had gone by in mere seconds to her, she knew it was already past 6 o'clock. Sherlock noticed her closing her coat and looked at her, again only moving his eyes.

'You want to leave?'

Alice looked at Sherlock, only with her eyes.

'Why, do you want me to?'

Sherlock continued to look at her, not another muscle was moving.

'Only if you want to.'

Alice turned towards her father, he stared at her for a while, observing her every move.

'Maybe I should, I should be having dinner.'

Sherlock looked back and nodded.

'Understood.'

Alice put her hands in her pockets.

'So...'

Now Sherlock looked up, really facing Alice for the first time in hours.

'Tomorrow, same time, here.'

Alice smiled and nodded, a little smile could be seen on Sherlock's face, but it disappeared again within a second. Then he turned back, to face the same view he had been observing for hours again. Alice didn't turn back, she walked past her father, crossing in front of him. She felt his eyes following her as she walked away, but the feeling was gone soon enough. She walked home, satisfied. She hadn't done that much, but it was enough. She had spend time with her father, doing what they both liked to do most of all, and that was all she ever wanted.

The following days were filled in the exact same way. The two Holmes's. Standing there. Underneath that very same oak tree. Everyday. For hours on end. The longer one would occasionally smoke a cigarette, an action that was preceded by an exchange of looks. When it got darker, the shorter one would leave, passing the longer one in front, with his eyes following her every move. All days were the same, unless Alice got a text in the morning.

Case to solve  
Tomorrow will do  
SH

Then she went out, alone, not to Russell Square, but to other locations in London. The one she loved in particular was not so far away from her hotel. It was a street, just a regular street, but it was something special to her. The houses were white, with small steps leading up to the doors. It was not far from the underground and from there you could reach any part of London, which she occasionally did when she had no appointment with her father.

She would walk the streets of London, visit the museums, she had been to the Globe Theatre for over 10 times now, and she could still find little corners nobody else saw, exploring it all anew every time. She would walk through Westminster Abbey, though she didn't really like churches. She would watch the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace and notice even the slightest mistakes in the walks of the guards, even the ones that also the guards themselves never noticed. She seemed to be a regular tourist, though she did spend a lot of time in the library, reading.

She had never cared for school. She had even dropped out earlier that year, convinced that those teachers could not teach her anything anymore. Her mother had eventually accepted it, knowing that her stubborn daughter would not change her mind. But Alice did care for learning, but only the things she actually found interesting, not all the primary school, general things, those were of no real importance. She would send her mother the occasional elaborate text to make sure she wouldn't get worried, but that was all the contact she had with her old home. Today she would go to Russell Square, meet her father again.

As a church bell in the distance chimed for the ninth time, she would arrive underneath that oak tree and after the exact same amount of time, every time, the leaves would ruffle and Sherlock would appear.. Their day went by in a flash, in silence, with the occasional cigarette and glances. When the sun went down, Alice looked up at her father, who still looked straight ahead. She turned and walked away, in front of Sherlock, like she always did, when she suddenly felt a hand wrap tight around her wrist. Alice looked up and stared straight into her fathers eyes, who was still standing in the same position, with one arm extended so he could reach for Alice's arm. He just looked down on her, staring back at her. After a really long silence, in which they just stared at each other, Sherlock finally opened his mouth.

'You want to have dinner with me?'

Alice looked at him, a little stunned, her father hadn't spoken a word to her for days, and now he suddenly asked her out for dinner. She nodded and smiled, Sherlock saw her reaction and released her hand, slightly smiling as well.

'I know a place, follow me.'

Sherlock started walking and Alice followed him in his tracks, after a walk through the centre of London they ended up in front of a small Italian restaurant. Sherlock opened the door and walked in. Alice followed, pushing the door open again for herself. A man approached Sherlock and smiled widely, he practically embraced him, something Alice was surprised about, but less so when she saw the reluctance in her fathers movements.

'Sherlock, welcome, welcome friend.'

Alice stopped right next to Sherlock, who was now smiling with a little difficulty. But when he saw his daughter, the little smile grew just a tiny bit bigger.

'Angelo.'

Alice looked at the man properly for the first time. Criminal. Minor, but he did time. Out for a little over a year now and it couldn't have been a long sentence. So probably a minor robbery or car jacking. Since Sherlock knew him, this Angelo must have gone to him for advice or something like that and such a warm welcome meant something had gone right. Maybe a higher charge? Something of which he was innocent, Alice wasn't really sure. Angelo's eye fell on Alice, who was still focused on reading him, but suddenly snapped out of it when Angelo started talking and walked towards a table near the window.

'There you go Sherlock, the best table in the house.'

He handed out the menu's to Sherlock and Alice.

'Everything on the menu on the house for you and your friend.'

He looked at Alice again and left, Sherlock opened the menu, glanced at it and then put it down again. Alice opened it a little longer, but then closed it again and put the menu down as well. She just stared at her father again, who was looking out the window. He noticed her looking, but he was to focused on the outside world passing by the window.

'Stop working Sherlock, please. I know you're married to your work, but please, not tonight.'

Sherlock suddenly looked up and at his daughter. He still couldn't grasp the idea that there was someone who thought just like him. But it was what she did, like she was constantly reading his mind. He nodded, a very short nod, but he stopped looking out, which caused Alice to smile a little. Soon enough, Angelo returned.

'You have made your choice?'

Both the Holmes's looked up, and nodded.

'Yes, the Linguini Trenette, with extra Parmesan, please. With a bottle of still water.'

Angelo looked from Sherlock to Alice and back. They looked at each other as well, since they had just ordered the exact same dish at the exact same time. Angelo smiled, just smiled, wrote the order down and looked up again.

'One or two bottles of water?'

Sherlock and Alice looked at each other, then Sherlock looked up.

'One will do for now.'

Alice nodded in agreement and Angelo turned around, clearly astonished by what he had just witnessed. Sherlock looked at Alice again, that was all they did sometimes, look at each other, boring to some, but it told them so much.

'Favourite Italian dish?'

Alice nodded, then opened her mouth for a counter-question.

'Favourite composer?'

Sherlock looked at her, a little startled, but quickly answered.

'My own work, or Bach.'

Alice nodded, also a little surprised.

'Mine too.'

Sherlock continued looking at her. A girl, who by the minute seemed to become more like him, to the point where it actually scared him, no matter how hard he tried to block that emotion, like all emotions, out of his system.

'Final question.'

Sherlock nodded.

'Are you gay?'

Sherlock's eyes grew big when he the words dawned on him.

'Why would you ask that?'

Alice smiled.

'I notice the people you look at, the people you like to deduce.'

Sherlock nodded, Alice noticed how embarrassed he had suddenly become.

'Don't answer me now, you don't have to.'

Sherlock looked at Alice, and now he saw her mother. For the first time he recognised in Alice, that young girl who had just tried to reach him. He had taken advantage of that. The result was sitting in front of him, and he didn't know what he thought of that, not yet.

(A/N: Hello people, I haven't properly introduced myself right? Well I'm SweetLoveWriter and I am a MASSIVE Sherlock (and Harry Potter) fan. I came up with the character of Alice myself and I really would like to see where she goes next and how she ties in with all the adventures and cases of Sherlock and John. I love to get and read comments/reviews. They really help me improve on my writing and they also make me really happy. So even if you have a minor thing to say, just say it, I really don't mind, I even think it's fun! Well, that's it for now, hopefully you enjoy my story. xx SweetLoveWriter)

 **Edit**

11/4/2018: minor changes made to comply to further research


	5. Baker Street, London

Chapter 5: Baker Street, London

A few months passed, summer faded and was quickly replaced by autumn. The observing space changed, it moved further away from Montague Street, something wasn't really right and Sherlock was trying to stay as far away from the place as possible. Father and daughter were sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, closer to the hotel where Alice was still staying.

Her reservation was nearing its end, but she didn't know how to tell Sherlock that. She had saved some money, but hardly enough to stay in London for another week, let alone months. She couldn't really turn to her mother, who had about the same amount of money in her bankaccount. So maybe she had to leave London altogether, something she didn't want to think about just yet. It did bother her, and anyone could see it, especially a man with an immensely high IQ who also just so happened to be a great observer. As they were sitting on their regular bench in Hyde Park, Sherlock continued to glance down at Alice, who looked tired.

'Something is bothering you.'

Alice was startled from her thought process when she heard her fathers voice. After their dinner at Angelo's, a few similar occasions had followed, but not many, since Sherlock apparently didn't need that much food, a waste of time according to him. All their other meetings were like the one right now, which was fine, but hearing her father actually talk to her was still something strange.

She looked up and met his gaze, which reminded her of something resembling the worried expression her mother had, but with him, it was hidden behind a mask of sternness. She just looked at him for a while, not really sure what to do or say since she hadn't planned to tel Sherlock so soon. He noticed her inner deliberation, and turned his head towards her.

'Alice, talk.'

Alice looked into the distance for a little while, but then she nodded, almost ashamed that it took her so long to think about what she wanted to say.

'My stay in the hotel is almost over. I can only stay there for another four days, then I'll have to leave.'

Sherlock looked at her, just looking, nothing more.

'And then?'

Alice shrugged her shoulders.

'I don't know, I wanted to get a place here in London, but I can't afford that.'

Sherlock nodded. He understood what she was saying. Apartments in London were expensive, that was a truth universally acknowledged. He turned his head back, facing the park again, but still listening to his daughter.

'So maybe I have to go back to my mother.'

Alice looked at her father, looking for a response, which didn't really come.

'You want to go back?'

Alice shook her head, Sherlocks eyes moved towards her, not another muscle was moving, showing no sign of emotion.

'Then you need a place to stay.'

Suddenly Sherlock stood up and started walking. Completely blown away by his words and sudden action, Alice remained seated for a while, until she quickly recovered and stood up, racing after to her father, who had by now almost left Hyde Park. She quickly caught up with him and followed him as he turned a few corners towards a location he apparently knew all to well. It felt like walking to Angelo's restaurant, like Sherlock had gone there before.

It was not long before they entered Baker Street, the street Alice had completely fallen in love with because of their clear white and perfect houses with their classic steps leading up to the door which had ornate numbers on them. Alice admired the houses all over again, but also tried to make sure Sherlock didn't see it. Suddenly he stopped in front of one of the houses, the one right next to a lunchroom Alice already knew, Speedy's. Sherlock looked at the door, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

'What do you think?'

Alice looked at her father.

'What do you mean?'

Then she looked at the door again and back to her father, the penny dropped.

'I-I can live here?'

Sherlock looked at her.

'Problem?'

Alice quickly shook her head, smiling brightly.

'No... No, if I could live anywhere, I would love to live here. I just...'

'Never thought you would. I know the landlady.'

Sherlock stepped forward and rung the bell.

'The main apartment might not be available, but she has other rooms in here as well.'

The door opened and an older woman appeared. She was about Alice's height. At first she looked a little bewildered, but then she recognised Sherlock and she smiled widely.

'Sherlock, so good to see you.'

Sherlock smiled a little.

'Mrs. Hudson.'

Mrs. Hudson smiled even wider when noticed Alice.

'Oh, who's your friend?'

Sherlock looked at Alice too, then he suddenly smiles wider, his eyes glistening softly.

'This is my... daughter, Alice Holmes.'

Alice's head shot up when she heard her father, she saw the smile, which made her smile too. This was the first time he had openly told someone about their relation, and the first time he had actually called her his daughter. Being Alice Holmes sounded strange, but it felt good. It felt like she was finally being accepted by her father, which had taken him almost two months. Sherlock and Alice looked at each other for quite a while, and Alice could read in his eyes he was actually proud of what he had said, it was a first step, but one in the right direction.

They looked back when Mrs. Hudson stepped forward towards Alice. Alice looked at her and noticed the open arms. Though she wasn't really one to quickly trust strangers or be close to them, in a hugging and embracing kind of way, she knew she couldn't resist the arms of this woman, who seemed so warm and friendly. She returned the embrace, much to the surprise, and maybe even envy of her father. Mrs. Hudson released Alice from her tight, but loving embrace and then looked back at Sherlock.

'Sherlock, is there something wrong? You haven't come by since the execution.'

Sherlock smiled again, then shook his head. Alice was a little surprised now, she had no idea what was happening. She could see that Mrs. Hudson loved to bake and that she wasn't one of the poorest, maybe not through the most legal ways, but that was hard for her to imagine. But execution, who should that be? She looked at the hands of the woman, no wedding ring, but there was a little mark where it was supposed to be. She had not been baking recently, so she wasn't not wearing it on purpose, maybe her husband was executed? But one thing didn't add up. What did her father have to do with all this? And why was Mrs. Hudson happy to see him if her had had something to do with the execution of her husband?

Alice didn't have a long time to think about it, since her father just continued talking. She didn't want to miss any bit of it.

'I am very sorry, there were other things on my mind.'

Mrs. Hudson smiled and stepped back in a little.

'Oh I understand that dear, but why don't you come in, I just made a fresh pot of tea.'

Sherlock looked at Alice, who smiled, nodded and then followed Mrs. Hudson inside. She saw stairs and next to that two doors. Sherlock followed in her footsteps. Mrs. Hudson lead them towards the one open door at the bottom of the stairs and into a cosy living room with a linked kitchen. It was a little small, but big enough and it looked very homey and cosy, without being messy. Alice smiled, she liked this a lot, though there were not enough books in the house for her liking.

'Sit dears, just make yourself at home, take of your coats. That includes you, Sherlock Holmes.'

Alice looked back at her father, who had clearly not intended to take of his coat, but after Mrs. Hudson told him explicitly, he did so, reluctantly. Alice also took of her coat and sat down on a couch. Sherlock didn't take a seat, until he saw Alice looking at him. He sat down on a chair. Alice had to stop herself from laughing, which her father made sure of by throwing her a fierce look. She knew he didn't like to be bossed around, so being surrounded by two women who would tell him exactly how to behave was hard on him. Mrs. Hudson entered the room again with a tray and three cups of hot tea. She put them down on the table, handed one cup to Alice and one to Sherlock and then sat down in a big chair with her own cup.

'So Sherlock, why are you here?'

Sherlock put his tea down and sat up even straighter.

'Yes Mrs. Hudson.'

He looked at Alice and then back to Mrs. Hudson.

'I am looking for a place for my... daughter.'

Mrs. Hudson also looked from Sherlock to Alice and back, but her smile had disappeared.

'Oh but Sherlock, you know the apartment upstairs is not vacant.'

Sherlock nodded and leaned forward, his arms leaning on his upper legs.

'I know, but you do have another room.'

Mrs. Hudson remained quiet for a while, she was clearly thinking, Alice could see the frown form in the woman's forehead.

'You... you mean C Sherlock? Or the little studio behind the lunchroom?'

Sherlock nodded.

'The studio behind the restaurant, C is too small and too mouldy, sorry. I know the studio is empty, and I need a good place for her.'

Mrs. Hudson continued to look from Sherlock to Alice and back, Alice in the mean time just listened. A little studio behind the lunchroom, she didn't know what to expect, but she did like how her father was suddenly really trying to get her into that room he had in mind for her, even though Mrs. Hudson hadn't given her approval yet.

'Sherlock..'

'She is 15 years old Mrs. Hudson, I can't just leave her somewhere.'

Mrs. Hudson was suddenly shocked, but then she leaned forward to a little, though not as much as Sherlock had done, he was sitting up straight again.

'You could take care of her Sherlock, like you should.'

Sherlock looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

'I can't.'

Now it was Alice who spoke up. She saw and read the shame in her father eyes. No matter how hard he would try, he couldn't be a proper father for her. In the end, she needed someone who could look after her. And someone who needed to be looked after, couldn't look after someone else, even if that someone was her father.

'Please Mrs. Hudson. I know Sherlock is not world's perfect father, but at least he is trying. If this studio is vacant, I would gladly take it. I could even help in the lunchroom if you want me to...'

Mrs. Hudson looked at her and she was suddenly at a loss for words. There it was again, her awkwardness around people. As long as nobody was looking and she could just say whatever she wanted without being interrupted, she could talk. But one glance from a stranger would be enough. She would lose her entire ability to speak in a mere second.

Sherlock had looked up when he heard Alice's voice stop, and immediately noticed her insecurity. He had never seen it happen before, but then again, he had never heard Alice talk to anyone but him, and he was her father. Now he realised that even with him she sometimes avoided eye contact when they were talking. He cleared his throat softly and Alice and Mrs. Hudson both looked at him. His eyes were completely focussed on Alice, who saw what he is trying to achieve. She could talk to him, even with his eyes piercing into her soul. Sometimes she would still feel insecure, but not as often as with other people.

'I don't want anything else but live near my father. But if I can't find a place to stay, I'll have to go back to my mother. But I don't want to leave this life behind. I can help in the lunchroom, as long as I don't have to face people, since I am not really good around them...as you probably already noticed.'

She looked up at Mrs. Hudson again, trying not to make direct eye contact with her.

'Please Mrs. Hudson, I might not be a perfect person, but I can try.'

Mrs. Hudson looked at Alice for a while, who looked down a little, making her look even more insecure. Not that she was trying to look like that, but it helped her in preventing eye contact. Therefore she didn't see Mrs. Hudson's smile returning on her face. The landlady got up and walked towards Alice, who followed the feet move on the floor and she felt Mrs. Hudson sit down beside her on the couch. Suddenly, the landlady had taken Alice's hands in her own, making Alice look up, into the glistening and smiling eyes of Mrs. Hudson.

'Then you can have the room my dear. On the condition that you help me in the kitchen from time to time.'

Alice's face cleared up and she looked at Sherlock, who looked pleased and nodded. She looked back at Mrs. Hudson and smiled even wider.

'Thank you Mrs. Hudson.'

Mrs. Hudson smiled and softly touched Alice's cheek with her fingers.

'It's my pleasure dear, you are more than welcome in 221 Baker Street.'

 **Edit**

11/4/2018: minor changes made to comply to further research


	6. Hidden Beauty

Chapter 6: Hidden Beauty

'You're doing wonderful dear.'

Alice looked up at Mrs. Hudson, who was smiling widely as Alice took the pie out of the oven. She put it on the counter and closed the oven again. Mrs. Hudson took a whiff of the apple caramel pie and smiled, but Alice smiled even wider.

'Just wait a moment, I can make it even better.'

Mrs. Hudson looked at her, a little confused, but then nodded. She had no idea, when she let this girl live in the little studio behind her shop, she got herself a wonderful baker as well. But Alice seemed to be a natural in practically everything that was thrown at her, except for socializing with people.

Over the months that followed after Sherlock had brought Alice to 221 Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson had gained her trust and she was almost as close to her as to her father, whom she hadn't seen that often lately. But Alice thought he was busy, Scotland Yard was solving a lot of crimes quickly recently, they were never that fast, unless they had help from someone who was actually clever enough, someone like a socially awkward, smoking, cocaine addict who she knew was her father.

But still, she had hardly talked to him after she had moved into Baker Street. Alice had found him only a week earlier with a syrringe beside him when she payed him a surprise visit in Montague Street. He wasn't overdosing, but he was clearly a long way gone. She had taken care of him, though he had send her away so many times, she had refused to do so. She didn't like seeing him this way, and he had no idea who she was when he was high. Still, nothing would stop Alice from leaving her father. She was only be 15, but she knew very well how to take care of herself and others if they needed her. She shook it of when she saw Mrs. Hudson looking.

'You miss him, don't you?'

Alice nodded.

'Maybe you should call him sometime, he is still your father.'

Alice looked at Mrs. Hudson, who nodded encouragingly.

'Really dear, you have every right.'

Alice nodded again.

'I know.'

She smiled at Mrs. Hudson.

'I will... but first.'

She turned to the counter again, grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets, put it over the mold of her pie and then turned it over in one subtle move. She put the plate on the counter and took away the mold, revealing a perfect tarte tatin. Mrs. Hudson looked over Alice's shoulder, smiling widely at it.

'Wonderful dear, hidden beauty, like you and your father.'

Alice turned around, with a questioned look on her face.

'What do you mean by that Martha?'

Mrs. Hudson seemed surprised for quite some time, because Alice suddenly called her by her first name, but Alice's look forces her to regain her voice. But before she started talking again, she beckoned Alice to sit down on a chair, leaving the pie on the counter. When they had sat down next to each other on the couch, Mrs. Hudson turned to Alice, who followed the example and turned to the landlady.

'What I mean, dear, is that your father and you are two beautiful people. Talented and cleverer than any person you could meet out on the street. But you hide it, because you are so awkward around people. You shut down, don't say a word, your father hides behind his ma...'

'Mask of sternness, I am surprised you noticed, he never believes me when I say such a thing.'

Mrs. Hudson just smiled, this was the Alice she knew, interrupting her in the middle of her speech, just so she could speak her mind out loud. Some people would hate it, she didn't, she just let Alice talk. When she fell silent again, Mrs. Hudson resumed her talk.

'He calls people out, just to show them that he is cleverer than them. He does that, just so that he doesn't have to open up to them. But underneath that, he has a big heart.'

Alice smiled widely, but sad, she knew her father had a big heart, you wouldn't just pay for an apartment in the heart of London for a girl you met only a few months earlier, even if she was your daughter, if you didn't have a big heart. But his mask was so thick, she could hardly get through it, no matter how hard she tried. She didn't mind that all her meetings with her father never consisted of that much conversation, but maybe she had hoped for more contact between the two of them after she had moved into Baker Street. She is startled by the touch of Mrs. Hudson, who took one of her hands that was resting on the couch.

'You want to break through his mask, then try talking to him.'

Alice looked from the hand up to Mrs. Hudson, then she nodded.

'I will.'

She smiled and Mrs. Hudson did the same, Alice got up and walked towards the counter, taking in the smell of the tarte tatin, before grabbing her phone, which was also on the counter. She unlocked it and opened a new message.

Need to talk  
Baker Street  
One hour  
ASH

Alice looked up at Mrs. Hudson, who smiled sweetly.

'Well done dear.'

Alice smiled and walked towards Mrs. Hudson, she leaned forward to embrace her.

'Thank you Mrs. Hudson, I don't know what I would do without you.'

She felt Mrs. Hudson's smile and when they let go of each other, they looked at each other for a while.

'You would be just fine, dear, even without me. You just sometimes need someone to show you things you, in a way, already know.'

An hour later Alice was sitting on her own small couch, looking straight at the man sitting opposite her on a chair. He had taken off his coat, but it was still in eyesight, and he was constantly looking at it. He wanted to leave, that was something Alice knew for sure. They just stared at each other for a while Alice was looking for the right words and was also observing her father. He wasn't using cocaine now, after last week, that was a good thing, but his smoking had increased, a lot. When she saw her father looking at his coat once again, she suddenly rose from the couch, grabbed the coat and opened the door to the hall, where she put the coat on a hanger. She closed the door again and turned around, staring straight into her fathers eyes, who had followed her every move.

'Now we can finally talk.'

Alice walked back to the couch, sat down and turned to her father, never taking her eyes of him, not blinking, and neither did he release his eye contact.

'Then talk.'

Alice wasn't surprised or startled by this response.

'This is not just on me, it's on you to.'

No reaction.

'We haven't talked in months.'

'I'm busy.'

Alice scoffed.

'Really? Solving crimes now, are we? Well, as you probably know I like crimes too. Solving them. Being part in the catching of those criminals. I like it just as much as you do.'

Sherlock just looked at her.

'But I don't need someone else around.'

Alice looked back at him. No emotion on her face, but she was getting angrier by the second.

'But maybe I do.'

'You have Mrs. Hudson... and I brought you a present.'

He took something from behind his back, which apparently had been there all this time. A skull, a real human skull. He handed it over to Alice.

'I have one too, maybe it can help you when you're trying to speak your mind, it's an easy companion, never talks back.'

Alice stared at the skull, and then at her father. Back at the skull. Again at her father. Her face going red, until she suddenly rose from the couch and hit the skull from her fathers hand, sending it flying to the floor.

'I need my father!'

Sherlock's eyes grew big with surprise. Alice's face was red with anger.

'For months you just ignore me, and then I ask you to show up, to talk to me and you show up with a skull to talk to, while you cannot wait to grab your coat and go out the door!'

Sherlock didn't seem to be bothered and he grabbed a cigarette, but before he could light it, Alice had hit it from his hands, it dropped in between the pieces of broken skull on the floor.

'And for once will you stop smoking!'

Sherlock's face was stone cold, and only inches away from his daughter's.

'I need those cigarette's.'

'No you don't! You don't! It's your way of calming down, I know that, but this is not the way!'

Alice's took a breath and calmed down a bit, but she was still looking her father straight in the eye.

'I just want you to take care of yourself, and be there for me. I came here to find someone like me, so that I could finally be around such a person and not feel singled out. You abandoned me the moment I got this studio, thinking that Mrs. Hudson would be enough companionship for me. Mrs. Hudson is wonderful, she really is, but she is not perfect for me. I can talk to her, but you understand me.'

She went quiet for a while, trying to find a response in the eyes of her father, but there was none.

'It may sound like something you don't want to hear dad, but I need you.'

Alice continued to look him in the eye, but then he stood up straight and started to walk for the door. Alice stood up straight again too, passed the broken skull and cigarette and opened a drawer, taking out a box.

'Sherlock.'

Sherlock turned around and Alice threw him the box, he caught it and looked at it, Alice just smiled at him, though it took some effort.

'Nicotine patches... might help.'

Sherlock looked up at his daughter again and suddenly that smile appeared again. The genuine smile he had had when he introduced her to Mrs. Hudson. Alice returned the smile and Sherlock opened the door. Alice kept on staring at it, even when it was closed again. The smile was still plastered on her face. Then the door opened again and Sherlock appeared, he had his coat on. The collar turned up like he always had. If it ever fell down, he would put it back up again within seconds.

'We'll talk tomorrow, maybe about a case.'

Alice smiled.

'I don't mind, even if we don't talk at all, I just want to know that we can talk, if we want to.'

Sherlock smiled just a little and left. This time, Alice followed him to the hall and stopped in the doorway. She saw Sherlock walk up to Mrs. Hudson, who was putting her cleaning stuff away in a cupboard. He softly tapped her on the shoulder and when Mrs. Hudson turned around and smiles widely at him with open arms, he answered her embrace and pulled her a little closer, which resulted in a surprised reaction, but then a tight embrace from Mrs. Hudson, evoking surprise from Sherlock. Alice laughed softly when she saw all this unfold. Her father whispered something in Mrs. Hudson's ear, something Alice couldn't hear, but which was surely about her. When they let go of each other, Sherlock stared at Mrs. Hudson for a while, a little awkward.

Then he looked up and saw Alice standing in the place where she had been that entire time, and after a bit of surprise, he smiled. Then he turned towards another door, which lead to the restaurant, a third door in the hall led to Mrs. Hudson's flat. Mrs. Hudson looked up and saw Alice as well, who was still standing there, her arms folded. This was the first time she had actually seen her father being affectionate towards someone. Somehow she had done something, even if it was just a little thing. He was showing just the slightest bit of emotion and over the course of that following month, that would increase.

Even though they still didn't talk that much, Sherlock found out that he could use someone to talk to. That sometimes he needed someone more alive than his skull. He still kept it though, for the times when he really wanted to be alone. But now all Alice knew was that her father understood that she could actually be important in his life, even if it was just a little bit, she was at least part of it. With her arms folded, she stared at the door through which her father had left, until she noticed Mrs. Hudson's look.

'Hidden beauty, my dear, and you're digging to find that beautiful centre.'

Alice just smiled. Mrs. Hudson was right, like she was so often. Eventually she would find the beautiful centre and find the emotions her father hid away with such care. She would find it. No matter how long it would take her. Even if she wasn't the only one who would help her father reach those emotions. She didn't care, as long as her father would become the person he really was, that would be all she could ever ask for.

 **Edit**

11/4/2018: minor changes made to comply to further research


	7. Moving

Chapter 7: Moving

A few months later. Alice and Sherlock sat next to each other in Hyde Park. They weren't talking, though they had been talking, even if it was a little. Alice had noticed that she too was becoming more quiet and detached from the world. After not being in Hyde Park for that long, Sherlock rose from the bench. Alice followed suit and both of them exited the park. They walked towards Montague Street. Though Sherlock never told her where they were going, Alice knew the route by heart now. With their hands buried deep in their pockets, they walked through London. They entered Montague Street 29 and Sherlock headed upstairs, throwing his coat on the couch. He walked towards his desk, which was more empty than Alice remembered it. She looked around for a while, but before she coule ask about the boxes scattered across the room, Sherlocks answered her question.

'I'm going to move.'

Alice looked at her father, who grabbed a pile of papers and threw it into a box. Then he looked at Alice, who was still standing in the doorway, but by seeing her father watch her, she regained her composure. He saw the questioned look in her eyes and said:

'Some disagreement with the landlord. Something about him not agreeing with my scientific experiments and it not being allowed in the building due to the fire hazard.'

Alice stifled a laugh, stupid man to think that Sherlock would stop doing his experiments due to some fire hazard. Besides, he even seemed happy that he finally had a reason to get away from this house, which was too small for all the things he owned. Sherlock continued to clean up. Alice in the mean time walked towards his laboratory, which was still chaotic. He wouldn't say goodbye to his experiments until he really had to, keep them going for as long as he could, and maybe even to taunt his ex-landlord.

'Where are you going?'

Sherlock looked up and saw Alice busy with his microscope. A few months ago he would have had to fight the urge to stop her, like he did with all the others who even tried to touch his stuff. But he didn't need to anymore. He knew he could trust Alice with his experiments, unlike Mycroft, who somehow always succeed in destroying his hard work when he bursted into the place without a genuine reason. He picked up another pile of things and threw it into another box. It seemed a big mess, but it wasn't. There was a system in those papers.

'Not far.'

Alice just turned her eyes to Sherlock to indicate she was listening, but then she turned back to the bacteria that were multiplying underneath the lens of the microscope.

'Where?'

Now Sherlock stood up straight, perfectly straight, as always. Alice again just looked up with her eyes, and then back to the microscope.

'If I can ever find a flatmate, I am going to get the now vacant 221B Baker Street.'

Alice's face shot up within a second. Baker Street? She knew the couple who had been living in 221B Baker Street had moved out to start a bigger family, but the fact that her father wanted to live in that apartment that was so close to her, was a surprise to her.

'Baker Street? Really?'

Sherlock smiled.

'I would like to keep it quiet for a while, but yes.'

He approached Alice, slowly, but continued to talk in the meantime.

'But I don't want to live there alone, Alice. You made me see that having a companion around can be... fun sometimes.'

Alice read her fathers eyes and smiled.

'But you don't want it to be someone like you and me. You need a normal person to assist you.'

Sherlock nodded.

'Hope you don't mind.'

Alice shook her head and smiled.

'I am happy when you're happy.'

Sherlock didn't reply, aside from curling up the corners of his mouth just a little bit. He wasn't sure yet whether having a so-called normal person be his flatmate was a good idea, but if he changed his mind, he would always have Alice close. The girl picked up a pile of newspapers, one of which caught her eye. She put the rest down and folded it open, it was the newspaper from a couple of months ago, November 27th to be exact, and the one article that had caught Alice's eye was the main article on the front page: Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre.

'What do you think about this then?'

Sherlock looked up as Alice threw him the newspaper. He caught it and looked at it.

'Yes, the suspicious suicides, this was the second one. The first one should be out there somewhere. Something was off about them.'

He threw it back to Alice, who looked at the article again. She also notices picture of a man, who was called detective inspector Lestrade, according to the text underneath the picture. Sherlock looked at Alice, who continued to look at the newspaper.

'What do you think?'

Alice looked up.

'That this Lestrade is competent, since he knows that the suicides are suspicious, but that the entire Scotland Yard is a big bunch of idiots who just don't care about solving crimes quickly and properly. If they would just investigate a little better and observe a scene, they could actually solve something by themselves... But since they can only see and not observe, they should come in quickly and give you the satisfaction and the fun you deserve.'

Sherlock smirked when he heard his daughters' speech. This was one of the things he liked about her. She could speak his mind, in a way that it would actually sound normal.

'And come on, maybe Christmas could come early this year and give you the serial you have been waiting for for so long.'

Sherlock's eyes started to sparkle, making her smile even wider, suddenly Sherlock came towards her and grabbed her upper arms, their smiling faces only inches apart.

'If that is true Alice, my year couldn't get any better.'

Alice smiled widely.

'And the year has only just begun.'

She looked at the calendar, which showed the 26th of January. Sherlock looked at the calendar with her, but apparently couldn't care less. Then he released her and turned to his packing again.

'When do you want to move in?'

Sherlock looked up.

'As quickly as possible.'

Alice looked at the clock, then back at the back of her father.

'You could move in today, I can help.'

Sherlock looked over his shoulder and smiled.

'Yes, we could do that.'

Alice smiled as well, and they both continued doing what they were doing, cleaning up the room in Montague Street, getting everything ready for the big move. After a couple of hours of pure silence, Alice was packing the final things. The entire laboratory desk was empty by now and all was stored in cardboard and cooling boxes. When Alice packed the final books and pulled the knife out of the sill to put it in a box as well, she suddenly heard soft violin music, coming from somewhere not far from her. She looked up and saw her father, facing the window, his eyes closed, playing a soft tune on the violin. Not something she knew, so it must have been improvised. She turned around and without saying another word, she sat down on the couch, facing her fathers' back, the books and the knife in her hands. A long while, all the sound heard in the room was the playing of Sherlock, with Alice listening breathlessly. Then suddenly, it stopped and only moments later, the door downstairs opened. Sherlock's eyes opened and he saw Alice sitting on the chair, a quick smile crossed his face, before he put the violin in its case and closed it. Alice also got up, the moment was suddenly gone, and she packed the knife and books, then grabbing the papers, that had been stabbed by the knife, and the skull, which was standing on the sill as well, and put it all in a box. She closed it and just when she did that, the door opens and Mycroft Holmes appeared in the doorway. Sherlock stopped in his tracks, Alice noticed the atmosphere in the room going cold and she looked up. She looked up and saw the stern man she had met on the stairs of this very same building months earlier. Mycroft looked around, first noticing his brother, then the amount of packed boxes and then the girl. His face went back to Sherlock. Stern at all times. Now Alice knew where Sherlock got his sternness from, he just copied his older brother, 7 years his senior, judging by his appearance, Alice estimated, now she could take a better look at him.

'Sherlock? what is going on?'

Sherlock stood up straighter than ever.

'I'm moving Mycroft.'

Mycroft scoffed, but when he saw his brother was being serious, his grin disappeared and the sternness returned.

'What did you do?'

He looked at Alice, who was looking straight at him.

'And who is she?'

Sherlock looked at Alice, and she could easily see that this couldn't be a truthful talk. Her father was going to do the talking, create a big lie, so big and well thought out that Mycroft "the clever one" Holmes would buy it. All that was created and understood in one second.

'She is a detective and profiler in training, she is trying to become better than Scotland Yards regular profilers by studying me. And she may be young, that is because she is actually a little more clever than normal people, who bore me to hell. That is the only reason.'

Mycroft scoffed again.

'And you make her pack your stuff so she can study you. Brother mine, that is low, even by your standards.'

Sherlock stood up and stepped closer to his brother.

'No brother mine, she's helping me pack so she can observe me in a place where I can really do whatever I want without an intrusive and boring landlord breathing down my neck. And maybe even without a brother who constantly comes in unannounced without a genuine reason for ruining my privacy.'

Sherlock looked at Alice and nodded, Alice nodded back and picked up a box. She was already walking towards the door, when Mycroft stopped her.

'And does this young... lady have a name?'

Alice looked Mycroft up and down, she has to suppress the urge to give him a complete deduction on his personality, but one look from Sherlock stopped her from doing that.

'Alice... Alice Reynolds.'

She looked Mycroft in the eye, responding his cold look with an equally as cold a look. Then she looked at Sherlock, her cold look was replaced by a smile again.

'If you could follow me quickly Mr. Holmes, we can start moving all your things.'

Sherlock nodded and Alice walked downstairs, holding one of the boxes. She made sure she could hold it in one hand and opened the door, where a driver was just about to ring the bell. Behind him there was a moving van. Alice smiled, her father had already planned to move today, she hadn't persuaded him at all. It didn't make her angry, it was just funny.

'Hello'

The driver smiled at her, Alice just looked at him and gave him the box she was holding, which he gladly took from her.

'If you don't mind, I'm going to get a couple more boxes upstairs. There is a lot that has to be moved.'

The driver nodded and smiled widely.

'That is fine by me, if you have some large things you have to move, just give me a sign, I'll gladly help.'

Alice gave him one more look and then turned around, ran up the stairs and entered the room again. Sherlock and Mycroft were involved in a heated discussion. They quieted down as Alice entered the room, which caused her to stop in the doorway.

'Oh, you don't have to stop arguing, I could hear you clearly outside. But if you don't mind, I'd rather move this stuff now. The quicker we get these things away, the quicker we can get to unpacking it all again.'

She looked at Sherlock and he nodded, understanding her. He grabbed a box and passed his brother again, who tried to stop him.

'Brother mine.'

Sherlock stopped in his tracks.

'Don't brother mine me Mycroft, I'm moving out, you can tell mummy that, she will not be mad at me. I'm a grown man and I can make my own decision, no matter how much you disagree.'

He walked towards the door, Alice had entered the room again and picked up another box, Mycroft followed Sherlock with his eyes.

'The East Wind will come Sherlock, and pick you up, you know it will.'

Sherlock stopped again and Alice also looked up, she knew what this phrase meaned to her father, that it could really make him angry. But this time, he shook it off and walked downstairs, sternly greeting the driver downstairs and then coming up again. He stopped right in front of his brother.

'It's not coming for me Mycroft, not now, not today.'

He passed his brother again, grabbed another box and wanted to stop in front of him again, but Alice, who had just come up again after bringing down another box stopped him with her voice.

'Mr. Holmes, please, don't put any energy in this man, he is not worth it.'

Mycroft's head turned around quickly, his eyes cold as ice.

'Who are you to talk about me like that?'

Alice wanted to approach Mycroft as well, but Sherlock stopped her now.

'Don't pay any attention to my brother, he doesn't know what he's saying.'

Mycroft's head shot back.

'May I remind you that I am, and always will be, the smartest one of us?'

Sherlock turned up his nose, something he hadn't done in a while. He grabbed another box and went out, leaving Alice and Mycroft together in a room. Alice grabbed a few papers she saw lying on the floor and put them in a box. There were three more boxes and then all the cool boxes and the couch had to be brought down. Suddenly, Mycroft started to talk.

'My brother is not a normal person, but he is not someone you can profile without my permission.'

Alice looked up, her eyes as cold as Mycrofts.

'Really? Is he a child? He doesn't seem to be a child?'

Her talking with such confidence startled Mycroft, who was quiet for a while, but then he regained his composure.

'He is not a child, but he needs special observations and special people around him to function.'

Alice grinned, she closed the box and picked it up.

'Don't worry Mr. Holmes, he will be taken care of. And I don't need an umbrella to protect him.'

Mycroft's eyes grew big and Alice started to smile, then she passed him and walked downstairs. Sherlock was still down there, waiting for Alice to come down.

'I'm sorry about Mycroft, he is always like this.'

Alice shook her head.

'Don't worry about it Sherlock, I don't mind.'

She got closer to him, so she could whisper:

'I think he is more concerned about who I am than I am worried about him.'

Sherlock smiled.

'Good, then let us go get those final boxes.'

Alice smiled widely and turned around. Her father did the same.

'You can't wait to get away from this place, can you?'

Sherlock smiled.

'You know me too well Alice, you know me to well.'


	8. Two Holmes’s in Baker Street

Chapter 8: Two Holmes's in Baker Street

'Sherlock?'

Alice knocked on the door and looked past it. She saw her father lying on the couch of his new apartment at 221B Baker Street. It was 7 in the morning, but Alice had always been an early bird. So it seemed was her father. Or he had just never gone to bed. Sherlock didn't look up when Alice entered the room. His hands were placed underneath his chin. His eyes were closed. Alice smiled when she saw him. He was thinking, that was for sure. She walked through the apartment and noticed that the table in the kitchen was packed with Sherlock's new and improved home laboratory. His papers were scattered across the tables, chairs and on the floor. They had a system. The wood of little table between the windows was not even visible underneath the enormous pile of files and books. The bookcases were filled with books again, still neatly placed on their shelves. The mantle was now the home of the skull and the knife, though it was still lying on the mantle instead of stabbing papers. She saw the bull skull with the headphones hanging on the wall and smiled widely. Then she looked back at her father, who was still lying there with his eyes closed. Alice turned around and walked towards the small table that was standing alone in the middle of the room. She looked into the kitchen, at all the new experiments Sherlock had set up during the night. He had never gone to bed. She put down the tray she had brought from downstairs and poured the tea into a cup. There was toast, a few slices of bacon and some scrambled eggs on a plate. She looked back and smiled again, her father had heard her, but he tried very hard to not show it by remaining deep in thought. Not expecting a single word from him, Alice walked back towards the door, but before she could go down one step of the stairs she heard a soft:

'Thank you.'

More and more her father was opening up to her, even if it was in his own particular manner.

A few days later and Alice was reading a book from one of her father's shelves, not that she had found it on a shelf though. Even though it wasn't her apartment, Alice spent a lot of time with Sherlock's books or in his laboratory. Ever since she had met him, her interest for the chemical sciences had piqued, something her father admired greatly, the table in the kitchen was stacked with chemicals, microscopes and other things, leaving barely any room to eat. When he was gone, Alice would play the violin or just read in her newly bought, though second hand, chair. On the second day after his move to Baker Street Sherlock had taken Alice into town with a goal. He needed to fill the void in front of the hearth. They had ended up in a high end store where Sherlock's eye had been caught by a plain and simple grey leather chair. It had not taken long before Alice was exchanging the money and the address of 221B Baker Street was given to deliver the chair to. Alice on the other hand had found her perfect chair in a little second hand shop. It had been in the shop window and the woman behind the counter had initially refused to sell it. A little deduction on the advantages of selling the chair and a redecoration of the shop window had however changed her mind.

'A scarlet chair for a Scarlet girl.'

Alice had smiled at Sherlock's attempt at humour once they had hoisted the chair up the stairs and placed it next to the hearth. The day after their shopping trip, Sherlock's chair had arrived and was placed opposite the red ragged chair. That evening, Sherlock had played on his violin for hours on end, with Alice just listening. In the days to follow she would either do that, or reading, or send her mother the occasional text that everything was going splendidly and that there was no reason to be worried. Or she would play, when Sherlock was too busy thinking. The nicotine patches were a great finding, but there was a flipside on them, since Sherlock now used multiple at the same time in order to "think properly" as he would call it. When she saw her father put on his coat and dark blue scarf, she looked up. She had given him the scarf for his birthday two weeks earlier, when he was still living in his old home in Montague Street. Sherlock had no idea that she knew when that was and was therefore very surprised. He wore it all the time ever since. Alice watched him.

'Don't forget to text. I want to know if I'm right.'

Sherlock smiled, they had been investigating a case together. Whenever people came to Sherlock with their problems, she was either in the kitchen or downstairs, but never with him. Like she did not exist. She had her own life too and Sherlock liked it that way. But often he would involve her in his thought processes which often led to new insights on both sides. Sherlock turned around and walked down the 17 steps that led to 221B Baker street. He slammed the door shut behind him, clearly audible from upstairs. That was Alice's signal. She smiled and put the book down. She stood up and walked towards one of the windows looking out on Baker Street, watching Sherlock hail a cab. Before he got in, Sherlock looked up and saw Alice looking at him. After a moment, Sherlock disappeared in a cab and the cabbie drove away. Alice remained in the same position for a while. She liked looking out on the street. Watch the people pass by. Read them within seconds. Create profiles for her own personal database. Sherlock was meeting up with a colleague of his, Mike Stamford, who taught medical students at St. Bart's hospital. Sherlock could ask Mike if he knew someone to become Sherlock's flatmate, because even though he liked Alice around, she knew he wanted someone else to be his assistant on his cases. Someone normal. Someone who could translate the world to him, and who could in turn translate him to normal people. Alice was to smart for that, something Sherlock would never tell her to her face, but she knew it already. After the meeting, Sherlock would go to St. Barts Hospital to do some experiments on a corpse. He had been doing that for quite some time now, and the only reason he was allowed to do it was because some of the employees let him. A week earlier, two days before Sherlock would move to Baker Street, Alice had joined her father on one of his trips to the morgue. A young woman had approached Sherlock with eyes like a doe and a smile that screamed: "I love you". Apparently she was the morgue attendant who had let Sherlock do his experiments all this time, and Alice could clearly see why she would let this person lacking a medical degree, experiment on her bodies. She had introduced herself as Molly Hooper, and throughout the three hours Alice and Sherlock had done experiments in the morgue and in the lab, Molly had constantly looked at Alice as if she was some sort of threat. She had asked Sherlock multiple questions, and all of those had been answered in a short, almost harsh manner. Poor girl, she was trying so hard to get his attention and become more than just colleagues. He didn't notice it. Too focussed on his work, not paying attention to the feelings of this young woman, though she was so easy to read for Alice. She didn't bother telling her father. He'd have to find out for himself, she was not going to help him with his love life, she knew better than to get him a girlfriend, when her father considered himself married to his work. Work for which he wanted an assistant. Not Molly Hooper. Not Alice Holmes. A male assistant, quite possibly. For more reasons than one. If he could find it in his heart to open up to him. When Alice turned around, she saw Mrs. Hudson, standing in the doorway.

'You like it here don't you dear.'

Alice nodded.

'I do Mrs. Hudson.'

Mrs. Hudson just smiled, Alice's face saddened.

'But I am sure that pretty soon he will have a new companion who can sit in my chair. Who can accompany him on his trips and who can spend time with him.'

Mrs. Hudson nodded.

'But he'll never forget you dear.'

Alice looked Mrs. Hudson straight in the eye.

'I know he won't, it will just be less than before.'

Mrs. Hudson stood up straight.

'Good girl, and you are completely right. Come now, I need your help.'

Late in the afternoon and Alice was walking around cleaning her room. The music playing as loud as possible for it not to be heard in the restaurant. Her hands and apron were dirty from all the sandwiches and pies she had made during the day. She spent her entire day in the kitchen of Speedy's, creating everything that Mrs. Hudson would in turn sell to the costumers in the front. She heard a soft knock on the door and put down the things she was holding, walking towards her phone to turn the music off.

'Come in.'

Expecting to see Mrs. Hudson, she was surprised to see Sherlock in the doorway. His face straight. He was still wearing his coat and scarf. He had just come in.

'Can we talk?'

Alice nodded and took off her apron. Sherlock came in and took off his coat and scarf. They both sat down.

'I found a flatmate.'

Alice nodded.

'OK.'

Her father looked at her, clearly searching a reaction that wasn't going to come. Alice knew her father would quickly find a flatmate, even though he was a hard person to share a flat with.

'Who is he?'

Alice looked at her father with a straight face, like his. But his sternness had been cracked. A little shimmer of worry was coming through. Always the worry, as if he was scared that she was becoming more like him.

'Sherlock, don't worry, talk. Who is he?'

Sherlock seemed to regain his composure and looked at Alice, who was now smiling a little.

'Dr. John Watson, army doctor.'

'Afghanistan or Iraq?'

Sherlock smiled when he heard his daughter's question, which had come out of nowhere and sounded like how he had said it a few hours ago.

'Afghanistan. Psycho sematic limp. Has recently returned from service. Has a drinking brother who walked out on his wife.'

'And all of this you deduced from his phone and the way he handed it to you.'

Sherlock grinned.

'And you know this how?'

Alice smiled and took out her phone, and she showed her father the text she got at 1.43 from an unknown number. It had been sent to both her and a Detective Inspector Grayson and it said:

If brother has green ladder

arrest brother

SH

Sherlock smirked. he could have known that Alice would link the unknown number to the man he had met a couple of hours ago in the laboratory of St Bart's Hospital. And the only reason he had send her that message was because she was the one who had given him the final and crucial clue when she looked into his microscope for a quick glance one night. She actually knew a lot about crime solving and liked it just as much as he did, though they had never visited a crime scene together, yet.

'Of course.'

Alice smiled back at her father, then she rose, under the watchful eye of Sherlock.

'So, do you think he is up for a challenge?'

Sherlock nodded, something Alice saw from the corner of her eye. She would watch from a distance and help with texts and all that where she could. But her father would go and live his own life, without her by his side every step of the way. Not that that had ever happened, but now he would have this John Watson to help him, a man she did not know yet, but she would, eventually. Until the time her father would introduce them to each other, she would look on from a distance. That night the father and daughter had dinner together in Alice's little studio, in total silence. It did not matter. Sherlock suddenly opens his mouth.

'Alice, you asked me a couple of months ago in Angelo's whether I...'

Alice looks up and stops her father's speech.

'You didn't want to tell me then, I get that.'

Sherlock nodded.

'I know. I just... '

Alice looked at him and sees how hard he was trying to say something, but the words just didn't come out. The insecurity and doubt werevisible in his eyes and she noticed the helplessness in all his movements and behaviour.

'Breathe.'

Sherlock focused on Alice's eyes and saw her smile. He closes his eyes and took a breath. Then he opened his eyes again.

'I don't know whether I am gay or not, I never thought I would have to think about it. I am not someone to make contact with another person, let alone...'

There he stopped again, Alice just looked at him. She was not at all surprised with the answer.

'I get it. Don't worry.'

Sherlock looked straight at Alice again.

'I know you do.'

After dinner, Sherlock rose up to leave, Alice had already left the table and turned on the music to do the dishes. In the mean time, she read the newspaper. Sherlock listened to the music for a while, looking at the phone.

'You can't do without music can you?'

Alice shook her head. Her hands didn't stop. Her eyes continued to read.

'You should really ask Lestrade why he hasn't come to you already. This is the third suspicious suicide in a short amount of time.'

Sherlock looked up from the phone and walked towards Alice. He read the article as well and nodded.

'He'll come. When he is most desperate.'

Alice looked up at her father, who continued to talk.

'And then I will have another big case on my hands, at last.'

Alice smiled.

'Maybe the first one with Dr. Watson.'

Sherlock looked up, a little surprised, he was still considering to bring Alice along for this case. Without saying another word though, he turned around and walked towards the door. Before he could leave however, Alice turned around to look at him, drying her hands with the towel.

'Do not look far, the answer to this is already in your reach.'

Sherlock turned around, a little confused, but then he nodded. Sometimes he had no idea what she was talking about, but maybe that was because she was a little quicker, sometimes solving cases days before he did so himself. She would never boast about it though. She smiled at the confused look in her father's eyes.

'And as for Dr. Watson, try to open up to him. Do not hold your feelings back and try to be as normal as you can. Otherwise you might lose him, not everyone sticks around like me and your brother dear.'

Sherlock smirked nodded yet again.

'I will try.'

Alice smiled.

'And should you ever need the silence and room to think away from 221B, "Studio" is always open.'

Sherlock smiled.

'I know, the same goes for B, should "Studio" become to silent.'

Alice nodded and Sherlock did the same.

'Goodnight dad.'

Sherlock smiled and picks up his coat and scarf, which he had almost forgotten.

'Goodnight... Alice.'


	9. A Study

(A/N): hey, a short author's note from me here! I am so sorry if updating is taking a long time. I have so many ideas for this story and it's all unfolding in my head. Writing just takes a lot of time and that is something I don't often have. I'll try my best for a monthly update, but that is with the emphasis on try. In the meantime, Inhope you enjoy what I have written so far.

Xx

SweetLovewriter

Chapter 9: A Study

The next day Alice was sitting in 221B Baker Street for the final time. Tonight John Watson would come to Baker Street with her father, who was now out walking around the city to clear his head a little. Alice had asked if she should join him, but he had refused it. Now she was just sitting there, reading a book on anatomy. She was starting to build up an interest for the medical profession since her father had taken her to the morgue, and by now she had read multiple books on the subject. Maybe she would apply to a university, though she didn't have any diploma's. She would try, and succeed. She wouldn't stop until she had achieved her goal.

After a while she put the book down, she couldn't handle the silence in the room. She rose from her red ragged chair, which would probably as from tonight no longer be her chair, but John Watson's. She didn't like the thought of it, but if it would please her father, how could she go against him? In the mean time, she had picked up her father's violin and started playing. Her feelings of bittersweet happiness were translated in the sound conveyed from the violin.

She played on and on, never stopping, never looking around, just looking out the window and often closing her eyes to fill her ears and head with nothing but music. The music changed to a calming sound, reflecting the calmness in her mind. After what seemed to be only a minute, which was actually half an hour, Alice stopped the bow, slowly opened her eyes and looked at her reflection in the window. Then she saw another reflection in the window, Sherlock's.

He was watching her from the treshold. His scarf around his neck. His coat still closed. His pair of leather gloves in his hand. Alice didn't turn around to face her father, first she put the violin down, softly placed the bow next to it and then stood up straight again, looking out of the window. But she wasn't looking out, she was looking at her father's reflection, which wasn't moving. They just stood there, looking at each other through the reflection of the window. Alice was the first to open her mouth.

'Another suicide?'

Sherlock snapped out of his thought process and shook his head once.

'No, not after the last one two days ago, I'm waiting for Lestrade to find me.'

Alice grinned.

'You texted all the press members during the press conference Lestrade was holding yesterday didn't you?'

Sherlock just smirked, took off his scarf and coat and threw them on the couch. He stopped in the middle of the room, Alice was still looking out of the window.

'Ali...'

Alice stopped him by starting a conversation of her own.

'You should consider cleaning up just a little bit, this room will only scare Dr. Watson off.'

Sherlock looked around at the appartment, with the papers and books scattered all across the room and the laboratory table in the kitchen. It was filled to the edges with all kinds of stuff on it and many experiments had been set up, by now either half finished or on the brink of being solved. He looked back at Alice, who was picking some books up and putting them back on their shelves, so there were at least some books in there.

'Just leave it Alice, I do not want to think about this right now.'

Alice put a few more books in their place, waited a while, remembers what she had been thinking of when her father was out and turned around to face him.

'Sherlock, would you mind if I set up an experiment of my own in your lab?'

Sherlock looked at her, not quite sure what to think. Up until now, he had never heard his daughter about scientific experiments and he thought by now that that was one thing in which they differed, but he seemed to be wrong. Then he slowly walked towards her.

'What would you like to do?

Alice looked at him.

'Well, I was curious about the relation between eyecolour and heat actually. So if I could just have a couple of eyes that I could first put in the microwave then outside on the counter, in the fridge and lastly in the freezer and everytime note down a change in the colour of the iris. Simple as that.'

Sherlock smiled.

'Quite the basic experiment.'

Alice's face fell, but she kept a part of her confidence to use it for arrogance.

'So it's too easy for you?'

Sherlock was suddenly grinning.

'Oh no, don't think that Alice. I never tried it before, so it should be interesting.'

He turned around and quickly paced the short way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out a jar with a couple of eyeballs in there.

'Would these do?'

Alice walked up to Sherlock who was standing in the doorway between the living and the kitchen. She looked at the eyeballs, which all had different colours. She grabbed the jar from Sherlock's hand and turned back to the living room. She sat down on her chair, grabbed an empty piece of paper from the floor and a pencil which was lying on the mantlepiece. She looked at all the eyeballs and screwed the top off the jar. Suddenly Sherlock was standing next to her.

'Might need these.'

She looked up just a little and took out a couple of latex gloves. Then she looked up at Sherlock again, who just stared at her, interested, but more or less blank. He was secretly happy with Alice, but also worried, she was more and more quiet. She baked pies and made sandwiches throughout the day at Speedy's, with music playing on her headphones, so that she didn't have to talk to anyone.

In the evening she would come up to him and they would spend their evenings together. Sometimes he was busy with an experiment and she would read, or play the violin constantly, or she would help him with some things, but she had never really interested herself in anything scientific, until now. She was sometimes distant, even towards him, and he was aware that he didn't even mind. After tonight she might even become more quiet, because he would have his new flatmate dr. John Watson.

Dr. Watson interested him, and he seemed to be interested in Sherlock as well. Still, if the serial suicides would take a turn and Lestrade would finally come to him, he would take Alice with him, to help him with a case. She wanted to do that so badly, and he liked her around as well. Maybe it was just something that would ease the pain of not being able to see each other that much again, this was the one thing he could share.

By now, Alice had finished taking out all the eyeballs one by one, numbering them and noting down their exact colour according to a colourmap she had found somewhere in his stuff, which wasn't a would often find things he didn't know he owned. She put all the eyeballs back in the jar and rose up, immediately faced with Sherlock, who had put back the gloves on the laboratory table and who had made a quick note about one of his other experiments, before going back to his initial position, the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

'Done?'

Alice nodded, then she passes Sherlock and puts the jar with eyeballs on the counter next to the microwave.

'They're too cold now, I'll place them in the microwave when they are room temperature.'

Sherlock nodded.

'Good, now we are going out.'

Alice's head turned around quickly, looking at her father. Was he actually being serious? He had just been out, why go out again? But Sherlock was clearly quite serious, though he did remain in the doorway for a while.

'Where are we going?'

Alice walked towards Sherlock and stopped next to him, both were facing the opposite direction, but they were looking at each other.

'Out.'

At that, Sherlock turned around and walked towards the couch, grabbed his coat and scarf and put them on while he walked out. Alice followed him, grabbing her own coat from the hanger in the hall. They walked out of Baker street and started walking in a general direction, one time Alice lead the way, another time Sherlock took over. They stayed silent for a long time, but Alice could see her father observing everyone they encountered. She did the same.

It was like it had been when they had just met, the only difference being that they now did it while walking through the streets of London, instead of standing in the park. Some people looked at them, and Alice had no idea why. When she caught her reflection in one of the windows of a shop, she stopped and had to look again to make sure that her eyes were not deceiving her. Sherlock noticed that she had stopped and did the same. He turned to her and saw her staring. He walked up to her and took his place right next to her.

'Just add a different coat, and some length.'

Alice looked up at her father, who was standing in the exact same position as she was. Over the past 6 months, she had never realized how much she had actually changed. Where she had had lighter streaks in her dark hair earlier, they had now mostly faded, leaving her with her chocolate brown, nearly black hair, which had become more curly without the straightener she had used at home. Her face was not as straight as her father's, but her cheekbones stood out more prominently and she had grown and inch. Her father had been right, if it wasn't for the difference in coat, her lack of a navy blue scarf and some inches in height, she could be a perfect copy of him by now. Sherlock saw the realization unfold in the reflection of the window and curled up the corners of his mouth.

'Time passes, nobody ever realizes what it can do to you until you stop and look at it.'

Alice looked up, staring straight into Sherlock's eyes. She smiled back at him. Then she looked at another reflection in the window. A cab had just pulled over in front of a well-dressed man, who got in. The thought of the serial suicides popped into her head again. The victims had all been found at abandoned places where they had no business whatsoever.

Whoever had led them to these places had to have been a person who could move around the city unnoticed and who would be able to come and go without drawing attention to him- or herself. Could it be? She would have to look into the other victims again. Think about it a little more, but maybe she had already cracked it. She smirked slyly, but it was more on the inside than the outside. Her father was smart, but if she was right, it would mean that she might be just a little bit smarter.

Suddenly, Sherlock turned around, looked at the clock that was on the corner of the street, and hailed a cab, before turning back to Alice.

'7 o clock at Baker Street.'

Alice looked at the clock, ten to seven.

'Dr John Watson.'

Sherlock nodded and opened the cab door for Alice, who immediately got in. Sherlock followed her and leaned towards the cabbie.

'221B Baker Street please.'

Ten minutes later, 7 o'clock sharp, the cabbie pulled over at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock and Alice both looked out and Alice saw a man coming from the same side as they had come, approaching the door to 221B. Walking cane in hand and now leaning in to ring the doorbell.

'I need to go out alone.'

Alice pulled her look away from John Watson and looked at Sherlock, who was already holding the doorhandle, she nodded.

'I'll pay.'

Sherlock nodded as well and then got out with a swing, turning back quickly to the cabbie whispering:

'Follow her.'

Then he was off to greet John Watson, shaking the doctor's hand while making a good attempt at smiling.

'Miss, are you getting out or not?'

Alice looked at the cabbie, who was looking at her through his mirror.

'Could you please drive around the block and park here again? And turn on your availability light.'

The cabbie shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, pressed the button for the light and pulled up again. While he drove away from 221B Baker Street, Alice thought about the man she had just seen.

John Watson. Army doctor. Psychosemantic limb, his actual wound in his left shoulder. But the brother, there was no brother. Maybe it was a different way of looking at him, but the first thing that came to Alice's mind was sister.

When the cabbie pulled over at 221B again, Alice thanked him silently and payed him with a generous tip for following her direction. It had sounded weird to his placid ears and she knew that all to well. She opened the door to 221B Baker Street and closed it behind her. Mrs. Hudson was upstairs with Sherlock and John, obviously. She opened Mrs. Hudson's door, for which she also owned a key by now, she owned the keys for the entire building, except those to 221C, the mouldy room next to Mrs. Hudson's flat. She had just closed the door behind her when she heard another car pull up and someone throwing the door open which was possible since Alice had forgotten to lock it, and going up the stairs.

She stopped in her tracks and looked up, something was happening, but she couldn't know for sure what. She realised it only when she turned around and saw the blue police lights coming through the windows in the door and in through the open front door. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs again and someone closing the door with a bang. Silence, but not for long.

'Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note, oh it's Christmas!'

Silence again, but not for long.

'Something cold will do! John, have yourself a cup of tea, make yourself at home. See you later!'

A door slamming and quick footsteps on the stairs again. Alice had listened to it all and now swiftly opened the door in one movement. She hadn't been standing that far away from it to begin with. Sherlock noticed the door opening and walked towards the first door leading to the front door.

'Coming? It's a serial, like we said. Laureston gardens.'

'No.'

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned around, seeing Alice leaning against the doorpost, her arms folded.

'No?'

Alice shook her head.

'No matter how much I'd love to finally go to a crime scene with you...'

Before she could continue however, they heard a yell coming from upstairs, which had clearly come from John Watson's throat.

'Damn my leg!'

Alice looked up and smirked, then she looked back at Sherlock.

'You see, he doesn't want to be left behind. You said he was up for it and he is the one you chose, so...'

Sherlock wanted to protest, but Alice's look silenced him. How she did it was a mystery to even Sherlock Holmes, but one way or another, his daughter would always get her way. Even with him. He nodded, turned to the stairs and went up again, taking two steps at the time, still holding his gloves in his hand. Alice smiled, she would have loved to go to a crime scene with her father. It was all she wanted if she was really honest with herself.

But this was not supposed to be the first crime scene of the two Holmes's. This was supposed to be the first crime scene of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.


	10. In Pink (Suitcases)

Chapter 10: in Pink (Suitcases)

'Alice!'

Alice was already halfway up the stairs when Mrs. Hudson called for her. She entered the room and stopped in the doorway. Mrs. Hudson was standing in the middle of the room, a garbage bag in one hand, and holding Sherlock's skull in the other.

'Ah, there you are dear. I thought I could clean up this room a little for that poor Dr. Watson. You should have seen his face, astounded by the mess Sherlock has already made.'

She wanted to throw the skull in the garbage bag, but in one quick move, Alice had snatched it from her hand and pressed it against her chest. Mrs. Hudson stared at her, her eyes large with surprise.

'Sorry Mrs. Hudson. This skull...'

She looked at it, remembering the time that her father had given her her own skull and how she had thrown it to the floor. She looked up again, her mind made up and structured again.

'This skull is actually mine, I forgot to take it down to my room yesterday.'

She continued to stroke the skull in her arms. Mrs. Hudson looked at her for a while, but then turned around to pile up some papers and throw some others in the garbage bag. Alice put the skull down on her old chair and helped a little bit.

She didn't throw anything in the garbage though, she just put it in a place where Sherlock would be able to find it and that it would make sense to him, while at the same time making it look like it was cleaned up. You could never just throw something away with Sherlock Holmes, you never knew how important it actually was.

Then she turned to the kitchen, where she saw the eyes she was going to use for her experiment. She paced to them and opened the microwave. She put the jar in and slammed the door shut. She turned the machine on and for a moment she watched the little light in the microwave lighting up the jar with eyes.

'Alice dear, I am going downstairs if you don't mind. Your father wants something for diner later when he returns, something cold would do. Could you?'

Alice looked up and straight at Mrs. Hudson, who was standing in the middle of the living room. Holding the garbage bag in one hand and the skull in the other. The girl nodded, but then pointed at the skull.

'Could you please leave that in my room, Mrs. Hudson, on the table?'

Mrs. Hudson followed Alice's finger and looked disgusted at the skull, then back to Alice.

'Sure dear, as long as I don't have to see it.'

Alice smiled and Mrs. Hudson left the room, still visibly disgusted by the real human skull she was holding, but which she was not allowed to throw away. Alice remained in the same position for a while, before turning back to the living room. She walked past her chair, the red ragged chair. A pillow had been dropped in it, obviously by John Watson, he was already making himself comfortable. Although Alice really wanted her father and this new flatmate of his to get along, she didn't know how she felt about this yet. She passed the chair and walked towards the window.

She looked out. It was dark. Sometimes a car or a bus passed by. Sometimes the streetlight would mark the silhouette of a man or woman on the sidewalk. Nothing important, nothing interesting. Boring. Nobody properly visible. Nobody of interest. Ah, boring.

Alice felt the wood of the violin at her fingertips. She smiled. She had been playing more than ever, always on her father's violin, who didn't seem to mind it that much anymore, and maybe, sometimes, even liked it. She picked up the violin and placed it on her shoulder, her eyes still fixed on the outside world on the other side of the glass. A soft sound started to flow from the instrument and filled the room. Alice closed her eyes, but where usually the sound would fill her ears, she was now thinking, and it was a very clear thought.

The suicides, her father was at a crime scene of the most recent one now. He might find some interesting clues there. He might share them with her. What if that would help her? She had her own thought processes and her profile of the murderer, since it had to be murder. The face was blank, but one thing was very clear, so obvious that Alice was surprised that her father didn't see it yet. The profession of the murderer. His motive could be anything from psychopath to murder for hire, and Alice didn't particularly care. She just wanted this person to be caught before he or she could strike again. She heard the timer of the microwave go off and she put the violin down.

After writing down the new findings in her experiments, she put the jar back in the microwave to cool the eyes down to room temperature again before she would start the second trial. It was just as easy to leave them there, she wouldn't forget them anyway. She was playing the violin again when she saw a cab stop in front of the house, She followed a dark figure in a long coat with something in his hand get out and she heard a key turn in the lock. The cab drove off, nobody else had come out. Alice suddenly stopped playing and before Sherlock had entered the living room, the violin was back in its place and she was sitting in her chair, as if she had been there the entire time.

'Found something?'

Sherlock looked at the figure sitting in the darkened flat and immediately recognised Alice, he grinned.

'Serial killer.'

Alice looked up, keeping her face in check. She made a proper attempt at hiding her excitement by covering it in disinterest.

'And?'

Sherlock held up a pink suitcase.

'His mistake.'

Alice looked at the suitcase for a moment. One to three day suitcase. Someone had been in town for a short period of time. Alarming shade of pink, so attention seeker. Celebrity, journalist or student. No camera's outside. No crying parents at the door. Journalist. If it was a mistake it had to have been forgotten. Maybe the colour had been the giveaway? If everything belonging to this person had been pink, and this suitcase had been left behind when victim and murderer had gone to the place where victim would die, that would be a mistake.

Alice grinned. Where to better leave behind, or rather forget, a suitcase than in the booth of a cab? If this journalist was in London for a day, on his or her, probably her considering the colour, way to a hotel, she would have taken a cab there. That ended rather miserable for her. Her theory got more shape and it made Alice happy. She looked back to Sherlock.

'Where did you find it?'

Sherlock grinned and sat down on the couch. He put the suitcase on a small table that now stood between them.

'Dumpster in an alley about 5 minutes from the crime scene at Lauriston Garden's. The killer must have thought he was smart, but not clearly not smart enough.'

Sherlock was smiling widely and his eyes were sparkling. This was his game. This was what made him Sherlock Holmes. Solving crimes, as a substitution of getting high and to break the everlasting boredom. Alice was drawn to the suitcase, but then she remembered someone else. She looked up at the door, still nobody.

'Dad?'

Sherlock was too busy fiddling with the lock that kept the zippers on the suitcase closed.

'Dad, where is Dr. Watson?'

Sherlock was still fiddling and didn't pay attention. Alice turned back to him and looked straight at him. She opened her mouth again and said, a little louder:

'Sherlock, where is Dr. Watson?'

Sherlock looked up, distracted from his thought process now.

'Who?'

Alice closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

'Your flatmate, remember? You showed him the flat about 2 hours ago? You took him with you to the crime scene?'

Sherlock looked up and around the flat, then back to Alice.

'Oh, he'll be able to find his way home alone. I just had to do this, and I couldn't really use him for it.'

Alice's eyes widened and she leaned closer to her father.

'Did you tell him that you had to do something and that he had to get himself a cab home?'

Sherlock stared back at Alice, then he went back to fiddling with the lock, which suddenly sprung open. He opened the zippers and threw the lid back, revealing the insides of the suitcase. Alice had risen from her chair, from her father's response she had made her own little deduction again. She was closed off, but she still understood the way in which a normal human mind would think after having lived with one as her only companion 24/7 for 15 years.

Sherlock had left John Watson behind on a crime scene, surrounded by police officers who had no idea who he was. And Dr. Watson had no idea where he was, or where his new flatmate had gone. Her father had left a helpless human being behind in the middle of nowhere, to fend for himself. Suddenly Sherlock's head shot up.

'Come and take a look.'

Alice didn't waste another second and walked around the table. She dropped down on the couch next to her father, who was still rummaging through this dead person's stuff.

'Missing something?'

Alice looked at the stuff in the suitcase. Clothes. Underwear. Make up. Toiletries. Pyjama's, well, something that was supposed to be one at least. Nothing out of the ordinary.

'At the crime scene we found absolutely nothing, no personal belongings at all.'

Sherlock remained quiet for a while, but then remembered something else he had to tell Alice.

'Oh, and I forgot to mention she...'

He looked at the tag on the suitcase.

'Jennifer Wilson... was a serial adulterer.'

Alice looked up at her father and then quickly glanced into the suitcase again, but she didn't need that final glance, she already knew what she missed.

'Phone.'

Sherlock smiled, for someone who had not seen the crime scene and with the little and seemingly trivial information he had given her, she had given him the correct answer to his question.

'Obviously. Now, we have to find out who murdered these people, and one way to do that is by...'

'Luring him out.'

Sherlock looked around and back at Alice, who was looking straight at him. She had been thinking the same thing. Sherlock turned around and nodded slowly, while walking around the room, thinking about the easiest way to lure this serial killer, who he had so longed to have, out of his lair. Alice followed her father's movements. This couldn't go on like this, she liked it, but what she didn't like was the fact that John Watson was out there somewhere, confused about whether his flatmate wanted him around or was just playing some sick prank.

Then she saw something lying on the table, her father's phone. While Sherlock was still pacing around the flat, Alice picked up the phone and opened a new text to a number bearing the name "John Watson".

Baker Street.

Come at once

if convenient.

SH

She signed it with her father's initials like he always did, it had to look authentic. She pressed send and looked up at her father again, who was still pacing. Her mind had not stopped while sending the text and now she opened her mouth to share her latest thoughts with Sherlock.

'The killer has to still have her phone, so that shouldn't be too hard.'

Sherlock's eyes locked on Alice's, who was now staring at the case.

'What did you say?'

Alice looked up.

'No phone on the body and no phone in the case. So the phone is with the killer or it has been lost altogether. The easiest way to lure this serial killer, is by using this missing phone.'

Sherlock started to smile and went back to the couch, on his way there he grabbed a pack of nicotine patches. He needed some more time to think this entire case through, while Alice was already tying up the final loose strings of a case solved. She had already taken out her own phone and was looking up a phone number, which she quickly noted down on a piece of paper on the table. Sherlock, in the mean time, was still thinking out loud.

'Then we'll have to send a text to the phone, so we need to find her phone number.'

Alice held up the piece of paper with Jennifer Wilson's phone number on it. Sherlock grinned and nodded in agreement, he quickly took it and looked at it himself for a short while.

'Can I borrow your phone Alice?'

Alice looked up.

'Why?'

Sherlock looked back at his daughter.

'Always a chance the number will be recognised, it's on the website.'

Sherlock held out his hand, but Alice didn't put her own phone there, but Sherlock's.

'Ask Dr. Watson. You took him with you. If he comes back, you'll know for sure that he's up for it. Send him another text, I already sent one.'

Without saying another word, Alice left the room and went downstairs, leaving her father alone with his suitcase and his nicotine patches. She had already solved the case, but she wanted her father to do it by himself too. Though not entirely by himself. But she was not the one to help him. When she entered Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, the landlady was making herself a cup of tea. She looked up.

'Oh hello dear, were you upstairs with your father, I thought I heard people talking. I met your father's new flatmate tonight, he's a doctor, did you know that already, of course you did. I think they look kind of cute together? Cup of tea?'

Alice nodded and wanted to walk towards the couch, but then she realised what Mrs. Hudson had just said.

'Wait. Mrs. Hudson, did you just say that my father and Dr. John Watson look cute together?'

Mrs. Hudson looked up, smiled and nodded.

'Oh yes dear. But you should have told me before that your father was a homosexual, and especially that he had a boyfriend.'

Alice had to really stop herself from bursting into laughter, but she failed. The surprise and confusion was visible in Mrs. Hudson's eyes.

'Something wrong dear?'

Alice shook her head and took a few deep breaths before she started talking, though she was sometimes still hindered by her laughter.

'My dad and John Watson are not together, Mrs. Hudson. Well, not as far as I know. Sherlock isn't even sure whether he is gay or not, let alone have a boyfriend.'

Mrs. Hudson's smile faded.

'Oh, I thought they looked cute together.'

Alice walked up to Mrs. Hudson and joined her in making her own cup of tea.

'Don't worry Mrs. Hudson, you never know.'

She still had to keep herself from laughing and sometimes Mrs. Hudson would laugh with her. When they finished making their tea and were sitting on the couch next to each other, not saying a word, they suddenly heard a voice coming from upstairs.

'Mrs. Hudson!'

Mrs. Hudson looked up and wanted to put her tea down, but Alice, who knew perfectly well what her father was trying to achieve, stopped her.

'Don't respond.'

They remained quiet for a while, and the voice started shouting again.

'Mrs. Hudson!'

Again Mrs. Hudson wanted to get up, and Alice stopped her again. The landlady looked at the young teenager next to her.

'He's calling for me, maybe something is wrong.'

Alice shook her head and smiled.

'Nothing is wrong with him Mrs. Hudson. He just needs to get used to the fact that there is somebody else he has to call to get what he wants.'

Mrs. Hudson looked confused again, Alice wondered why. What she was saying wasn't all that cryptic was it? It wasn't difficult to understand what she meant? Then why was Mrs. Hudson so confused the entire time?

'Who is that my dear?'

Alice smiled.

'John Watson.'

 ** _(A/N):_** OK, maybe a little under a monthly update, but I couldn't stop writing this because I'm starting to love this story so much. However, I am still finding new details every time I rewatch the episodes (which I do A LOT). So I still come up with new ideas, which result in new writing, which result in re-uploading chapters. Now I don't know whether the people who follow this story get a notification EVERY TIME I do this, cause if they do, I'm so sorry, I know how annoying this can be. So, if this is the case, please let me know.

And if there are other things you think could improve either the story (though I have my own ideas I am still open to new insights) or the lay-out, please tell me. I am still getting to know this platform (as this is my first story here) and I am not quite the expert... yet.

And just in general, if you have a review for me, I would love to read those to (they make me really happy to be honest so please do)

So... that's all for now I guess.

Have fun reading!

xx

SweetLoveWriter


	11. Chase

Chapter 11: Chase

Not long after Alice had sat down with Mrs. Hudson for tea, the door had opened and someone had gone up the stairs. Alice smiled, John Watson had returned, he wasn't afraid, he maybe even liked the danger that her father put him in, him being an army doctor. She smiled while cleaning the final cup and put it in the cupboard.

'And what about you dear? Now that your father has gone of and found himself somebody to share his life with, what are you going to do?'

Alice looked up at Mrs. Hudson, who was cleaning the sink. Alice dried her own hands in the table cloth and shrugged her shoulders.

'I don't know actually, I mean, it's not like I have that much to do.'

She smiled, but then she thought of something. Maybe she could do something, learn something new. The past months she had often helped and watched her father perform all those experiments, and it had sparked her interest. She wanted to learn more, more than was in her father's books, something else than just chemical experiments. She wanted to help people, save them, but not become a police officer.

'I might start a study in medicine.'

She had just mumbled her thoughts, but Mrs. Hudson had heard it.

'Medicine? But my dear, you are only 15, you can't just enrol in university to study medicine at 15. Do you even own any other diploma?'

Alice looked at Mrs. Hudson and shook her head. She didn't have a diploma, she had dropped out. But she would be able to convince those people at a university to take her. She could study something that would actually interest her, and if it was going to slow, she could take multiple courses at the same time, causing her to finish earlier than any other student. She started to smile, happy with what she had just thought out for herself. But then Mrs. Hudson burst her bubble.

'You know that if you become a doctor, you will have to communicate with people dear? You do have patients.'

Alice stared blankly at Mrs. Hudson. She hadn't thought that through properly yet, that was the next part. Talking to people would never be her strong suit and she avoided it as much as she could. She didn't even think about improving on it, she didn't care about it enough. But Mrs. Hudson was right, wasn't she? No she wasn't. Alice started to grin.

'Not if I become a surgeon. I'll have to communicate with other doctors, but I can put myself through that. And they can do the talking to the patients.'

She grinned and put the table cloth down, satisfied. She would apply to one of the universities in London. She wasn't going to move away from her father and Mrs. Hudson any time soon, her study would have to fit into the life she had here, and it would no matter what.

Suddenly, Alice and Mrs. Hudson heard footsteps on the stairs and soon after that the front door slamming shut. Mrs. Hudson looked at the door, and so did Alice. She had heard two pairs of feet, and a cane. Her father still had some sense in his deductive brain and he had figured out that he needed John Watson, one way or another, this man was a keeper. She turned back to Mrs. Hudson.

'Do you mind if I start baking pies already for tomorrow?'

Mrs. Hudson pulled her eyes away from the door, wondering where the boys were going this late in the evening and stared at Alice for a while, trying to remember what the girl had said. Then she smiled and nodded.

'Of course dear.'

When Alice turned around, her eyes caught something large standing in a corner, half-hidden behind the curtain.

'Mrs. Hudson? What is that?'

Mrs. Hudson turned around again, she had been cleaning the workbench, and gave a short, somewhat nervous laugh.

'Oh that dear, don't worry about it. It is the rifle I own to keep housebreakers away. It used to be my husbands, but I know how it works. '

Alice looked at Mrs. Hudson with large eyes. Her landlady, and it had taken her, Alice Holmes, month to realise that there was a rifle standing in the corner of the room! Mrs. Hudson just continued talking, explaining the works of the rifle in immaculate detail as if she was given her recipe for pot pie to Alice, who continued to stare at her. She even showed Alice the bullets, which were in a drawer in the workbench.

Then she suddenly fell quiet.

'Oh my, did I just tell you all that?'

Alice smiled and nodded.

'Don't worry Mrs. Hudson, it's alright.'

Mrs. Hudson, still a bit stunned, turned back to the workbench to clean it even more. Alice glanced at the rifle one last time and then turned to the door that would lead to a hallway with doors to both her little studio and Speedy's. She grabbed her phone and headphones from the table in her studio and plugged them in as she opened the door to the lunchroom. With 'Ridin' Solo' on replay she grabbed the things she needed and started making three pies at the same time. Singing loudly she didn't notice the cars stopping in front of 221 Baker Street and a group of people going out and into 221B. With her back turned to the door, she mixed the final ingredients together and dropped them in the moulds. She walked to the oven and turned the temperature higher.

She couldn't help but dance a little bit through the kitchen, not caring if anyone saw her. Music was her life and if she wasn't playing it herself, she played her playlists. She would do it to if she was alone in her own studio, when she was thinking, or now, when she was doing something else.

With all the pies in the oven she walked to the front of the store and put all the chairs on the tables, before she grabbed a broom to clean the floors of the biggest pieces of dirt before opening tomorrow. She had no idea how much time had past when she caught the cab pulling over at 221B Baker Street and a cabbie coming out. Who had ordered that cab? The cabbie made his way to the door and ring the doorbell. He waited, then rung again.

Alice took out her headphones and observed the cabbie from the shadows, still holding the broom in her hands. She tiptoed to the door and listened carefully as the door was opened.

'Taxi for Mr. Sherlock Holmes.'

Taxi for Sherlock Holmes? Her father never ordered a taxi, ever, why now? Why?

No...

Alice waited for a moment as the cabbie remained outside. He looked around if someone else was watching him and Alice shot back a little more. This must be him, THE cabbie. Her father would never order a taxi so this must be a set-up, a set-up by a serial killer. Slowly she backed away and put the broom back in its place, without making any noise. Then she turned back to the cabbie, who was now gone. The cab was still there, and he wasn't sitting in it. He must have gone inside. Alice stared at the cab for a moment, but then she knew what to do.

Take the rifle.

She didn't know exactly why the thought had popped into her head, but it seemed so logical. She rushed back to the hallway and into Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. For a moment she stood perfectly still, expecting Mrs. Hudson to come in any minute, but she didn't. With her eyes often glancing at the door, Alice made her way to the curtains, pushed them away and revealed the black, modern rifle, partially packed in large bag.

She grinned, zipped up the bag and took the rifle. She went to the workbench, opened the drawer and took out the bullets when she heard footsteps on the stairs in the hall. She turned her head up, but then quickly made her way back to Speedy's, she rifle on her back, the bullets in her pocket. She took her keys out of her back pocket and went back to Speedy's. She saw the cabbie, talking to her father. Why did he come out here, alone? They were talking, her father near the door, because she could only hear his voice, the cabbie leaning against his cab. Then her father appeared, the talking continued. With held breath she watched the cabbie walk around his cab and get in. Her father stepped even closer and leaned in to talk with him through the window.

Don't get in dad, she thought, don't do it. He'll kill you, like he killed all the others. With her eyes fixed on her father, she watched him stand up straight, look up and down Baker Street, then back at the cab. Then he took the door handle and got into the backseat.

'Shit!'

Without thinking properly, Alice took out her keys, opened the door of Speedy's and got out. She followed the cab as he drove away. Then she noticed another cab coming down Baker Street, she lifted her hand and waved. The cab turned and stopped next to her. With some difficulty, since the rifle was still strapped to her back, Alice got in and said loudly, partially out of breath:

'Follow the cab you just passed, now!'

The cabbie looked at her with big eyes, startled by her resolute voice and the bag that she had dragged into his cab, which could be anything from golf clubs to a rifle. Alice rolled her eyes and slammed the door shut.

'I said, NOW!'

The cabbie turned back and started the pursuit. Alice sat in the middle seat, so she could look out of the front window at the cabbie that she was tracking. It was somewhat of a miracle that she had actually found the right cab again, but she was sure of it. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins as they stayed behind the cab. Sometimes she would slow her cab down to avoid suspicion, but most of the time, they were immediately behind the cab where Alice saw her father sitting in the back seat.

Then he suddenly turned around and looked straight at Alice, who was leaning forward, holding the head supporters on both the front seats. Their eyes met and in that split second Alice knew that her father was aware of her presence and that he at least had someone who was with him. He turned back and didn't look back again anymore. Alice gave the cabbie his instructions obediently. Alice looked at him and noticed that the cabbie himself wasn't that old. When he saw her looking, he smiled.

'What are you looking at?'

Alice felt busted and immediately looked straight ahead again, she wasn't going to talk to this guy, she didn't know him, and besides, what could she say?

'So, who's in the cab, your boyfriend?'

Alice eyed the guy, he wanted to start a conversation while he was chasing another cab? But eventually she did open her mouth and muttered a soft answer.

'My father.'

The guy eyed her as well, he didn't even realise how young this girl was, she must have been around 16.

'Why are you chasing him?'

Alice kept on looking straight ahead, her eyes glued to the backlights of the cab with Sherlock and the serial killer cabbie.

'He's in danger, speed up will you?'

The cabbie's eyes grew bigger as he tried to pay attention to the road, he stepped on the gas to just catch the orange light and then slowed down to let one car between him and the cab he was chasing.

'What do you mean danger?'

Alice sighed.

'No matter, just pay attention to the road OK? This is my thing.'

The guy nodded and kept on driving, suddenly the cab turned right towards a building where barely any lights were lit. The cabbie looked in, Alice followed his look and both of them watched the cab stop and the cabbie get out.

'Drive around the block and stop again here.'

The cabbie nodded, his eyes still on the cab in front of the building. He drove around the block and then entered the parking lot.

'This is Robert Kerr Further Education College, what a long route to take him there, we made like three turns around it. Is your father a teacher?'

Alice kept on looking at the building, she saw something move, but she wasn't sure whether it was the cleaners or her father. Maybe she was already to late. Shit. She grabbed the change she had gotten from the cabbie a few hours earlier and looked at the price for her drive. But when she wanted to hand the guy his cash, he shook his head.

'No no, this one's on me. This was the most interesting drive of my day. And I'm almost off duty anyhow. If you want, I could wait for you, take you back home, if your father isn't in danger anymore?'

Alice looked at the guy for a moment. What the hell was he thinking? Did he think she would actually trust him. But then she looked properly. Young man, about 20 years old, soldier in training, so this must be a weekend job for him. Not from the best neighbourhood, which was probably why he needed a weekend job in the first place, to pay for his training. No addictions. Steady shooting hand. Proper driver. Single. Still living at home with his mum and little sister. No malicious intent whatsoever, just a kind offer. She looked back at the guy, who was still waiting for an answer.

'If you could, please. But I don't know how long it is going to take.'

The guy smiled and shook his head.

'No worries, I'll park my cab around the corner and I'll wait. If you can get home with your father that's also fine. Just give me a call then.'

He looked about for a while and then took out a little notebook. He ripped out a piece and took out a pen. He scribbled something down and handed it to Alice. She smiled a little awkwardly, but then she focused on the building again and grabbed the bag with the rifle tighter. She pushed the door open and climbed out. Without saying another word she rushed inside. Now she had to take a gamble, which way had her father and the cabbie gone? She took a quick glance at the note in her hand before she pushed it deep in her pocket with the change. Stephen Bainbridge, cab number 22167. With her hand wrapped tight around the strap of the bag, she opened a door and started running. She had to find Sherlock, and quickly.


	12. Pull the Trigger

Chapter 12: Pull the Trigger

It didn't take Alice long to find her father, the only problem was that she just saw him, on the other side of the building, through two opposite windows. He was sitting with his back to the wall. Alice remained still for a while, looking at what was going on. Nothing happened. She stepped inside, the door shutting behind her. She was standing in the shadows, staring at the back of her father's head and part of the face of the cabbie. She couldn't see much, and that wouldn't change by stepping closer, but she did so anyhow. The rifle was still in the bag strapped to her back and the box of bullets burned in her pocket. Only now did she realise that she wasn't wearing her coat and that all her pockets were filled with things, from change and her phone to bullets for a rifle that until recently, she didn't even know existed. The rifle, why had she even taken it with her? Would she fire it? Could she? She knew how it worked, considering the fact that Mrs. Hudson had explained it in detail. But still, could she? She felt the back of her shirt stick to her back and sweat pearling on her forehead. Cold shivers ran down her spine, suddenly scared. What had she been thinking? Taking a rifle out to confront a serial killer? What had her father been thinking? Thinking that she could save him? Suddenly her father rose up from his chair and made his way to the door, leaving the cabbie sitting at the table. Alice smiled, her father was getting out of there, he was safe. But her smile faded as soon as her father stopped at the door and turned back. He didn't move for a while, the cabbie had turned to him and seemed to be talking. She could hardly see the cabbie's face, since it was hidden underneath a hat, but she could see the mouth moving. With a shock she saw her father walk back to the table and grab something from the table. He moved towards the window at looked out of it. Immediately Alice stepped out of the shadows and he saw her standing there. He was twirling a small bottle in his hand. Alice squinted and saw a pill, falling from one side to the other and back. That was how he had done it, the cabbie behind her father must have a similar bottle. It was a choice. A game of chance. No chess. The cabbie had played and won four times in a row. Without a second thought, Alice took the bag from her back, zipped it open and took the rifle out. Now that her father was going to do this, she had to do something. She took a couple of bullets from her pocket and loaded it. She stepped back into the shadows, so that the cabbie could not see her and held the rifle up, aiming at the cabbie's chest. Her father had turned away now, but he knew she was there, that if it would get too close, she would be there, and would somehow save him. Alice stood there, waiting, doubting herself. Could she do it? Could she kill a man? Even if it meant that she could save her father? She was still deliberating with herself, holding up the now slightly shaking rifle, when someone burst into the room. Alice took another step back and lowered the rifle, which softly hit one of the steel tables. The person looked in her direction, but didn't see her, then he turned back and seemed to recognise someone.

'Sherlock!'

Alice looked at the man, she only saw his profile in the dim light. He was a little taller than she was, with greying hair and a black, partially leather jacket. This had to be him, this had to be Dr. John Watson. This was the first time Alice could actually look at him up close, but she didn't take the time. Her face shot back to her father, who was still standing there with the cabbie, his back towards the window. Alice picked up the rifle a bit more and tip-toed to the other side of the room, remaining in the shadows the entire time, not making a sound, afraid to even breathe, just in case John Watson would hear it. When she stopped, she had a good view of the cabbie and a part of Sherlock. Then he did it, he held up the pill, high up so that she could see it clearly in the bright light of the room. She pointed the rifle at the cabbie again, this shouldn't take to long, she just had to shoot. Her finger was on the trigger. This was not how her father would die, she wouldn't allow it. It had taken her too long to find him. Too long to connect with him. Now they had finally made a proper start, she was not going to allow some serial killer cabbie to take it from her. But her finger was shaking, sweat was pearling on her forehead. She wasn't sure whether she could shoot. What if she missed? What if she missed and her father took the pill and died? What is she missed and hit her father? What if...

A gunshot resounded through the room, Alice was startled from her thoughts, but prevented herself from firing. John Watson was standing in the middle of the room, holding a handgun. The window in the room where she was standing was open, the one opposite had a hole in it and the cabbie had disappeared from view. Suddenly John turned around and disappeared from the room, leaving Alice alone in the shadows. She lowered the rifle. She was shaking all over. She hadn't done it. She hadn't pulled the trigger. Her father nearly died, he had almost been killed, and she couldn't pull the trigger. Tears burned in her eyes. She put the rifle back in the bag and slowly she went back out of the building. With the rifle strapped to her back, she exited the building, her mind was still filled with the same thoughts. You would have just let your father die! You couldn't pull the trigger! He needed you Alice and you let him down! What if John Watson had not been there? Then you could have well been going to a funeral next week! You would have to go back to Scotland, to your mother, to your boring life and it would all be your fault! With tears blurring her sight, she looked around and found a cabbie with its lights on, standing in between two streetlights across the road, trying not to stand out too much. He was still waiting. Alice dragged her feet towards the cab. In the corners of her eye she could see the blue lights approaching, but she didn't want to go there, she didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. She just wanted to go home and cry on her bed. When she got closer to the cab, the door opened and Stephen Bainbridge got out. He opened the door to the backseat and waited to Alice to get in. When he saw the tears flicker in the streetlight, his smile disappeared.

'Miss, what's wrong?'

Alice looked up, but then she put the rifle on the backseat and sat down. Stephen continued to look at her, worried. Alice rolled her eyes, which was difficult with the amount of tears burning in her eyes. Always that worry, though she was only 15, she was no longer a little kid, she could handle herself, she didn't need other people to worry about her. But Stephen wasn't that easily fooled, he crouched down beside the car and tried to look Alice in the eye.

'Miss, what happened? Is your father OK?'

Alice looked up, her tears trickling over her cheeks.

'My father is fine. Now take me home.'

Stephen nodded and got back behind the wheel without saying another word. In silence they drove for a while. The counter wasn't running. Stephen had turned it off. He looked in his mirror and saw Alice wipe away a tear.

'What happened in there?'

His eye fell on the bag beside the girl.

'And what is in that bag you're carrying around?'

Alice looked up and met his eyes looking at her in the mirror, one of her hands hugged the rifle a little tighter.

'It's none of your business.'

Stephen nodded and it was quiet for a while. Alice sniffed softly, still blaming herself for what had happened.

'You should have pulled that trigger, damnit. What are you, a baby?'

The words came out as nothing more than a whisper, but in the completely silent car she could have as well screamed the words. Stephen's eyes widened.

'Excuse me?'

Alice's eyes shot up. Shit, he had heard her.

'Nothing.'

'Nothing!'

Stephen pulled over to the side of the road and turned around in his seat.

'Hang on there. I might just look like a stupid cabbie, but I happen to be a trained soldier, now in training to become part of the Queen's Guard. And I happen to have ears, so I heard you. What are you saying about pulling a trigger?'

Alice swallowed her tears and looked straight at Stephen, trying to look as strong as she usually was.

'I should have pulled the trigger when my father almost got killed by a serial killer in that building where you dropped me off.'

Stephen's eyes widened, Alice suddenly forgot her tears completely and scoffed slightly.

'Don't look so terrified soldier boy. You asked what was in here?'

She softly tapped the bag.

'In here is a rifle, which I was supposed to have used on this serial killer. My father was on his trail and so was I. He came to pick my father up and I followed, sure that if my father was in danger, I would be able to pull the trigger. Fact is...'

A single tear fell down her cheek and she suddenly shrunk again, losing all the confidence she had shown a moment ago.

'I couldn't do it. My father almost died because I was a coward! If it wasn't for this new roommate of his to show up and pull out a gun, my father could have well been dead by now.'

Stephen saw the girl breaking, he took off his seatbelt, opened the door and opened Alice's door as well. He crouched down again, but not as far, so that they were at the same height.

'Hey, don't be to hard on yourself ... er I don't believe I know your name.'

Alice smiled a little through her tears.

'Alice.'

Stephen smiled.

'Alice, I'm Stephen.'

Alice laughed and wiped away a tear.

'I know.'

Stephen thought about it for a while and then remembered the note he had given her with his name and phone number. But then he quickly got back to what he was saying.

'Alice, how old are you?'

Alice sniffed softly, quickly trying to get rid of her tears. It was shameful how much she was crying, terrible. She wasn't supposed to be this emotional. Her mother had often told her that it was wrong to hold in your emotions, in Alice's opinion it was wrong to be to open about them. It was nobody else's business to know how she felt, so why should they be able to see it? Eventually she did answer Stephen.

'15.'

Stephen's eyes grew bigger again.

'15? My God! Please don't be so hard on yourself. When I was your age I was just playing football with my mates and going to school. And you're thinking of killing a man.'

Alice shook her head, he was never going to understand. He wouldn't understand that she was smarter than anyone in her school, that she had dropped out because her teachers couldn't teach her anything anymore. That she was thinking of enrolling in university. If she was doing all that, then she wasn't like any normal 15-year-old, so why should she not be thinking about things other 15-year-olds didn't think about? Stephen sat beside her for a while, while Alice wiped away the final tears. He gently took her hand and smiled when she looked at him, suspiciously.

'Please don't think I'm some sort of creep. I have a sister who is your age, she sometimes cries too, but she mostly cries about boys.'

Alice bursts into laughter, Stephen laughs too.

'Wow, didn't know that could work to make someone laugh too. You ready to get going again?'

Alice nodded. Stephen let go of her hand, slammed the door shut and sat down in his own seat again. They drove home in silence and when he pulled over at 221B Baker Street he smiled to the back of the car.

'It was a pleasure to drive you home miss Alice.'

Alice smiled too, she opened the door and dragged out the bag with the rifle in it. Then she looked at Stephen, who was not looking at her. She grinned, took out the change she had and put it on the backseat. Then she slammed the door shut, causing Stephen to look up.

'Hey, Alice. If you ever need a cab, remember me right?'

Alice nodded and smiled. Stephen gave her one final smile, a wave and then he was off, leaving Alice in the light of the streetlights. She went inside and softly put the rifle back in its place. She hoped Mrs. Hudson hadn't noticed that it was gone and she was surprised not to find her awake. Then she tip-toed back to her own studio, where she dropped on her bed. The tears burned again, the bullets were still in her pocket. She felt in her other pocket and took out the little note, Stephen Bainbridge, kind of creepy, but he was nice. She put the note on her nightstand and, without getting changed into her pyjamas, she quickly dozed off. But she was haunted by nightmares which would wake her up throughout the night. Every time she would watch Sherlock die, the cabbie would laugh and Alice would stand there, motionless, unable to do anything. The same thing would happen, over and over again, and only when Alice had made herself a steaming hot cup of milk and had taken a painkiller for her headache, she could finally fall asleep.


	13. Understood

Chapter 13 Understood

A little over a week later, Alice had not heard from Sherlock after the incident with the cabbie. Maybe she didn't even want to see him. He didn't need to see her, he had John Watson now. Alice was sitting on her couch, a few books scattered around her, all open, and she was reading them all at the same time. They were the books she would need if she wanted to study medicine, and she had read almost every single one of them already. She still had to decide on a university, but it really didn't bother her that much. As long as she could get into the university and stay in London she would be happy. She had made a couple of biscuits that morning and they were lying on a plate next to her. She picked one up and put it in her mouth while her eyes scanned the pages about the anatomy of the human brain. The biscuits were a recipe she had learned from her mother. Ginger nuts. With a cooling cup of tea on the table she had spent a couple of hours flipping through the pages, when she heard a soft knock on the door.

'Come in.'

The door opened and Sherlock came in. He had not come from outside, but he was holding his coat. Apparently he wanted to get away from Dr. Watson upstairs and had he made up something about going out. He took in the books surrounding Alice, her place on the couch, the tea on the table and the plate of biscuits on the armrest. Music was filling the otherwise quiet room. 80s hits. Alice didn't look up for a while, too focused on the book about blood transfusions that she was reading at the moment. When she looked up, Sherlock was still standing in the room, looking at the books upside down, his coat he had put down on one of the chairs.

'Sherlock.'

She sat up straight, Sherlock continued to look at the books.

'Studying?'

Alice looked at the books and then back up.

'Yes.'

Sherlock looked up.

'You want to go to school?'

Alice nodded.

'Yes.'

Sherlock stepped closer and took a better look at the content of the books.

'Medicine?'

Alice nodded again, a conversation between them often consisted of this type of communication. Short answers and nods. It was easy. It was efficient.

'Which school?'

Alice shrugged her shoulders.

'Any good university here in London.'

'You want to stay here?'

Alice nodded again.

'Good.'

Alice smiled, Sherlock saw it when he looked up. He was now standing next to the couch and he could now properly see the biscuits on the armrests.

'Are those ginger nuts?'

Alice looked at the plate, surprised by the quick switch in subject.

'Yes, baked them this morning.'

But before she had finished her sentence, Sherlock had already picked up four of the biscuits and was eating them. When the words dawned on him, he looked up.

'You baked these?'

Alice nodded.

'They are... really good.'

Alice smiled, that was the amount of compliment she could expect from her father, and she didn't even mind. Sherlock sat down on one of the chairs, the ginger nuts still clutched in his hands and he occasionally took a bite. Alice, in the mean time, looked at another page of one of the books about EKG's. It was quiet, aside from the music that was still filling the room. Then Sherlock opened his mouth:

'You didn't shoot.'

Alice, who was looking at a few pages on the anatomy of the arm, looked up. She knew exactly what her father was talking about. Her hand moved towards her phone and she killed the music. Sherlock noticed the sudden silence and looked straight at Alice. Now he saw it, the tears burning in her eyes. She had never cried in front of him before. Alice felt the tears and tried to swallow them down, but she failed.

'I couldn't.'

Sherlock didn't move, and neither did Alice. The tears didn't fall, they were just there.

'John pulled the trigger.'

Sherlock continued to look at Alice, who nodded.

'I saw.'

'I don't blame you.'

Alice's head shot up and she looked straight into the green eyes that were staring straight back into hers. There was no need for an explanation, and Alice didn't even want one. Then Sherlock got up.

'If you have found the right university, just let me know.'

Alice followed him with his eyes.

'What do you mean?'

Sherlock turned back.

'I am going to make sure that you can study whatever you want. If that means it is to be medicine, I will see to it.'

'You can't just say that you will see to it. It is expensive Sherlock, I will have to save for tuition money, books, equipment, everything. It is not that simple.'

Sherlock looked intently at Alice.

'I told you, I will see to it. Every bit of it.'

He grabbed his coat and wanted to walk out of the room.

'Oh, John will be spending the night out with Mike Stamford.'

Without saying another word, he walked out, leaving Alice alone with her books, her few ginger nuts and her, by now, cold tea. She took the cup and downed it in a few gulps. The words her father had said slowly dawned on her. He was going to pay for everything for her study. He wanted to help her achieve what she wanted. And she would not disappoint him. _John is out tonight._ No John. An empty 221B. Free play for the two Holmes's to be together again. Alice smiled and she flipped every page of every book and started reading again. 

That evening, Alice was standing in the kitchen of Speedy's, preparing the pies and sandwiches for the next morning. Mrs. Hudson was in the front, cleaning. When she was done, Alice went to the landlady and smiled as she noticed that Mrs. Hudson was wearing headphones during her cleaning. The music could be heard through the headphones and Alice had to stop herself from laughing at the hard rock that was blasting through. When she noticed Alice, Mrs. Hudson immediately turned down the volume and stopped cleaning.

'Have you finished dear?'

Alice nodded and came further into the cafe.

'Mrs. Hudson, there is something I need to tell you.'

Mrs. Hudson put her broom away and sat down at one of the tables. Alice followed her example and sat opposite her.

'I er, might not have that much time to help you here in the future.'

Mrs. Hudson's expression was questioned, which Alice understood. Without waiting for a long time she continued her story.

'I have decided to go back to school, to start my degree in medicine and become a doctor.'

Mrs. Hudson started to smile and took one of Alice's hands.

'Oh dear, I am so happy. Of course I understand that you won't have that much time to work here anymore.'

She rose up from her seat with her arms wide and Alice answered her embrace. When she let go though, she looked a little worried.

'But, where are you going to get the money to go to university?'

Alice smiled, she still wanted to pinch herself. At home she would not have had the resources to even go to university and here was this man whom she had known for a little over half a year and he was willing to pay everything for her, just because he didn't know how else to show her that he, maybe, cared for her.

'Sherlock. He offered to pay.'

Mrs. Hudson looked a little stunned for a moment, as if she couldn't believe it herself, but then she smiled again.

'You have a good one there dear, keep him close.'

Alice nodded.

'I will.'

Then she noticed a cab stopping in front of the cafe and a man getting in. That had to be John. Sherlock was alone in 221b, she could go there. This morning she had thought that she didn't need the company that much, that spending her days either cooking, baking or reading in silence was enough for her. It apparently wasn't. She left Mrs. Hudson after a quick goodnight and walked back to the hall. She slowly walked up the steps of the stairs. Seventeen steps. She saw that the door was open and she stopped in the doorway. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, clearly waiting for something, or someone.

'I checked on the eyes again. They have been in the freezer for half an hour now. It seems that they do not change that much though.'

Alice did not even come into the living room, she had turned around and went to the freezer. She took out the jar of eyeballs and quickly found her sheet of results in the cleaned up laboratory table, either Mrs. Hudson or John Watson had been organizing. She compared the results and then she put the jar of eyeballs in the fridge, where she also found a bag with a heart in it. She lifted it up and looked at it for a while.

'Mind if I use this?'

Sherlock looked up and nodded. For the time being, Alice put it back in the fridge, she would take it downstairs when she would leave and work with it tomorrow. She turned back to the living room, where her father had suddenly picked up his violin. She looked as he slowly plucked on it, suddenly no longer aware of who was in the room. She sat down on the red chair, the pillow in her back felt strange, but she wasn't going to move it. In her mind she was thinking about what she had read throughout the day. A few more days and she would be ready to go. She would surprise people with her knowledge and her quick understanding, but that was the point. All she knew now came from books, she wanted people to teach her something for a change. At least, if those people were smarter than her previous teachers. The only problem they could have was that she had no GCSE's or A-levels at all. But that could easily be solved. She could make them on the spot, the knowledge was there, it was just repressed and on the brink of being forgotten, something that would happen if she was accepted into university.

'Have you ever been to university Sherlock?'

The question came out without Alice actually really thinking it through, Sherlock didn't seem to mind. He continued to pluck on his violin as he answered her question, just as absent-minded.

'I have. I graduated as a chemist, but I also did some business, law and philosophy to fill my time.'

He looked up, and Alice did the same thing at the same time.

'You should do the same if you ever feel bored. I eventually left because of... you know...'

Alice nodded. Cocaine.

'But it was good to fill my days in a way that was actually useful and fill my head with useful information.'

'Now you fill your days with solving crimes.'

Sherlock smirked.

'Yes, quite an interesting way.'

'I would never disagree with that.'

'Mind if I play?'

'Mind if I listen?'

Sherlock smirked and rose from his chair. He picked up the bow and whipped it a few times before he placed the violin on his shoulder and started playing. Alice got up, but quickly sat down again, this time with her feet on the chair. That was how it remained for the rest of the night. Sherlock played, mostly looking out the window while he did so, but also walking around the room. With one nicotine patch visible on his arm, he played his own composition which kept on changing and evolving as he played. Alice would listen, filling her ears with the music, hoping it could stay there forever. Sometimes their eyes would meet. Nothing would happen. They would just see and recognise each other.

'We never speak.'

Sherlock had put down the violin. Alice was still sitting in the chair, staring into the burning fire in the hearth.

'Do we need to?'

'That's for you to answer.'

Alice looked up, Sherlock was still looking at the fire.

'At first I thought I needed to talk, because that was what my mother always used to do.'

Sherlock smiled, her mother. He barely remembered her, but it sounded familiar, he had known such a girl once. Always talking. About everything. Get your feelings out to cope with them more easily. He looked up from the fire at Alice.

'But...'

'But now I feel like I don't need to talk. When I was younger I needed to explain myself all the time, even when I thought everything was obvious. My mother couldn't read me like you can. My mother and I didn't understand each other the way you and I do now.'

'And you feel like you don't have to talk anymore because everything is already clear.'

Alice nodded.

'You know me.'


	14. What happens in Speedy's

Chapter 14: What happens in Speedy's

 _Dear Alice,_

 _I am worried about you._

 _I haven't heard from you in months._

 _How are you my dear girl?_

 _Please send me word that you're OK, I am afraid your father is not the one you thought he would be._

 _If he has disappointed you, please don't stay there._

 _I'd rather have you here and be happy than unhappy with him._

 _Please let me know how you are doing my dear girl, I am worried sick._

 _Your principal also contacted me, he says that if you want to return for your GCLE's and you're A-levels, you can, but you have to come by his office within a fortnight. Please do so my dear girl. I don't want you to throw away that brilliant brain of yours because you lack the papers._

 _I send a train ticket with this letter, there is no date on it. Use it. Come home._

 _Lots and lots of love,_

 _Your mother_

Alice looked at the papers in her hand, one of them was a train ticket. Back home. She was home. She was sitting in Speedy's after lunch. There was a couple in the back and a man who was reading his newspaper at a table in front of her. Why was her mother so worried? She just didn't understand.

Of all the things, she did one thing almost every day: Send her mother a text telling her that everything was allright, that she was happy. She had been applying to universities lately, so maybe she had been too busy to send a text every single day, but at least she tried. Sherlock had told her as much. He would have quit a long time ago. They had met only a few times, Sherlock had been busy with some small cases. Alice didn't know whether Dr. Watson actually helped him, or whether he was left out of her father's perfect bubble.

She had given him back his skull, maybe not her best move when it came to involving Dr. Watson. At least Sherlock had been happy when he saw the skull again, he couldn't stop grinning. Alice stared back at the letter and the train ticket, which she had both laid down on the table.

She could go home, make her mother happy. But why would she? She was happy here too, maybe even happier. She had all she needed. She could read and study, play the violin as much as she wanted, she could bake and cook and nobody would ever talk to her if she didn't want to talk. She is startled when she suddenly hears a voice behind her.

"Alice, look what the postman just brought in."

Alice looked up and behind her, she didn't notice the eyes of the man in front of her glancing over his newspaper. Mrs. Hudson came in, waving a few envelopes. Alice looked at them as she dropped them on the table. They were all official letters. University letters. Alice looked up at Mrs. Hudson, who was looking back with a hopeful smile on her face.

'Go on dear, open them.'

Alice looked at the envelopes, which had been dropped right on top of her mothers' letter.

'I don't know, maybe it was just a stupid idea.'

Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

'Nonsense dear. Just open them, it will all be fine, no matter what the outcome.'

She smiled one last time before she turned back to the counter and disappeared behind it. Alice picked up all the letters and looked at them. She was staring like she could look straight through them, hoping she could read them through the envelope.

'University acceptance?'

Alice's head shot up, she was looking straight into the eyes of John Watson, who had put down his newspaper. She stared straight at him. He had been out in the morning, he wanted to get out of Baker Street. Yet he was tired. Her father did tell her that he was busy with some sort of experiment. Quite possibly one to keep John Watson awake. But he didn't seem to mind, he seemed to be used to it. That could not be just because of these past few nights. He was used to it because of his missions in Afghanistan, night shifts, patrols, nightly attacks, all of it. He didn't miss it. He was still here, and here, sitting in this lunchroom, safe from the danger upstairs, he was, or so it seemed, bored. Alice smiled, not because she was greeting John Watson, but because of what she had just figured out. He, however, took it as a greeting. He stood up, folded his newspaper, took that and his cup of coffee and sat down opposite Alice.

'You should just open them you know, no use in waiting.'

Alice, who had followed John's every move, noticed instantly that the limp was gone. Somewhere between their meeting almost two months ago and now, John Watson had lost his psychosomatic limp. Then she stared back at the envelopes in her hands. John looked at her more intently, she could feel it. But she didn't know what to say.

'I am John Watson by the way, I live next door in 221B.'

I know. Alice didn't say a word. She looked up, a little awkwardly. She didn't want to be awkward. Why was she awkward?

'Alice. I help Mrs. Hudson sometimes in the lunchroom. I have seen you around before.'

That was the truth, though she had not seen him in the way he expected it. John looked down at the letters and then at Alice again. She could see the thought dawn on him.

'I'm quite young to receive university letters, am I not?'

She wanted to slap herself. Shut up. Just for once. Why do you have to show off immediately. He already thought that you were young, don't show off what you can. He was observant this dr. Watson, it only took a little bit more of that ability to figure out who she was, considering the resemblance. For a moment she stared at him, hoping he didn't notice. But then he just nodded.

'Yes, yes you do.'

Thank God, not observant enough.

'I… I am very smart for my age.'

She was right, partially. She was smart in certain fields, and terrible in others. John smiled and he tried to look at her, but he failed.

'Just open them.'

Alice stared at the letters again, then she dropped them on the table and grabbed one. She tore it open. She had done GCLE's and A-levels at one of the universities to show her abilities, as well as another test to show her knowledge of medicine. She had taken the GCLE and A-level results to all the other universities. They all asked her to do the medicine knowledge test over and over again. She knew all the answers, they had not been hard, maybe she had just studied too much in advance. She unfolded the piece of paper and read.

 _Dear Miss Reynolds,_

 _We are glad to inform you that you have been accepted…._

She dropped the letter. Her jaw had dropped alongside with it. John looked at her.

'And?'

Alice looked at the pile of letters. This was a lucky draw, this could be right. What kind of sick joke was this? She picked up another letter and opened it.

 _Dear Miss Reynolds,_

 _We are glad to inform you that you have been accepted…._

Drop. Pick up.

 _Dear Miss Reynolds,_

 _We are glad to inform you that you have been accepted…._

Drop. Pick up.

 _Dear Miss Reynolds,_

 _We are glad to inform you that you have been accepted…._

Alice dropped another letter. Three universities, three acceptances, this seemed to be impossible. John looked at Alice's face and picked up one of the letters, curious why this girl was dropping and opening them one by one, followed by dropping them and opening another. He looked at a couple of them before he looked at Alice.

'You have been accepted into all of them?'

Alice nodded slowly, she didn't quite know what to say. She was dumbfounded. She knew she had knowledge, but she would have expected at least one rejection for either her age or her anti-social behaviour. John leaned forward a little bit.

'So? Which one do you prefer?'

Alice focused on his face, but then looked down at the letters in front of her. Somewhere hidden underneath was the letter from her mother, accompanied by the train ticket. Someday she would use it, but that day was not near, because she had been building a life here for herself, and she seemed to be successful.

'I really have no idea, I expected rejection from all but one so that I wouldn't have to make the choice.'

John laughed genuinely, one of the genuine laughs she had heard so close to her in months, if she didn't count the occasional giggle from Mrs. Hudson. It made her smile. Then John put his finger on one of the letters.

'I'd say that one is quite good, but maybe I am biased since I went there myself.'

Alice looked at the letter John was pointing at and picked it up. She knew already that he was a doctor, but John was seemingly surprised about the lack of response on Alice's part so she smiled, in a weak attempt to make the situation seem less awkward. She failed. She kept on looking at the piece of paper, hoping that John would leave. He looked like he wanted to leave, but he remained in the chair for quite some time. Suddenly he got up from his seat and put his hands on the back of it.

'Well, hopefully you find the right university. Whatever you choose, good luck.'

Alice kept on looking at the letter. This might just be the one for her, even if she only chose it because John Watson told her to. When she noticed John standing behind his chair, searching the right words to say, she looked up.

'Thank you.'

John smiled, a little unsure, but it was a genuine smile nonetheless.

'Anytime.'

He tapped the chair once and wanted to leave, but he didn't really move. Alice's eyes were still fixed on him. The situation was becoming more awkward by the second.

'So, maybe I'll see you here again?'

Alice grinned, John was trying to make some sort of legitimate goodbye… to a 15-year-old. It sounded funny. Not that she really responded, she was just sitting there, grinning. She quickly nodded.

'Yeah, maybe.'

John nodded again, still trying to get away, but not really making a move.

'Bye…'

John shot up, seemingly startled by the quick release from this awkward conversation which wasn't really a conversation.

'Yeah… bye…'

Without saying another word, John Watson turned around and walked out of Speedy's, walking past the window to the door next to it, leading to 221B Baker Street. He looked back one more time, just to see Alice looking at him, observing him. Observing his awkwardness and his failing ability to make have a decent conversation with her and his anger towards himself for that failure. It made her smile. He was an open book to her. Then she turned back to her letters. Not long after John had left, the bell from the door was heard again. Alice glanced up as someone pulled back the chair at her table and she immediately wiped away all the letters and put them in her bag.

'Something to hide?'

Alice grinned slyly at the man sitting in front of her.

'There are things that do not concern even you Mr. Holmes.'

Mycroft snorted. Alice couldn't help but grin even wider.

'I understand you do not like me around your brother Mr. Holmes, but you cannot stop me.'

Mycroft continued to look at her, then he started to grin.

'About that. Since my brother left, I have not lost sight of him. You seem to be quite close to him. You even seem to live in the same place. Only until Dr. John Watson moved in.'

Alice hid her surprise behind her sternness, not showing any emotion, something that seemed to startle Mycroft. But he wasn't done with his little speech.

'He kindly refused the offer I made to give me information on Sherlock Holmes.'

'And I am not going to give it to you either.'

Mycroft stopped in his tracks, staring straight into Alice's eyes, who now leaned forward.

'Look Mr. Holmes. I might not look like much to you, but I am smarter than you give me credit for. No, I don't want your deal, even though I am not that wealthy and still studying. No, I won't do it ever. No, your brother has not been using drugs. Yes, we still meet. Yes, I still live in Baker Street. No, I don't live with Sherlock and John Watson. Yes, I know John Watson, and finally, no, you don't need to know who I am. And don't worry, you won't find anything, not even you, because you won't know where to look.'

Alice rose from her chair, grabbed her bag, swung it over her shoulder and passed Mycroft Holmes.

'I will find out who you are, you don't know who I am if you think I won't.'

Alice stopped, she turned towards him and started to whisper. There was nobody around to stop her, and she was not intending to do so on her own accord.

'I know you are Sherlock Holmes's big brother, seven years his senior to be exact. I know you have a secret, one that you don't even want your brother to know about. You smoke, have smoked for years now. You actually caused Sherlock to start smoking too, even though he has quit now for the time being. I know you smoke several different brands and various tar heights, meaning you don't care what you smoke as long as you can smoke, quite the addiction you have there.

You are worried about your brother because you feel responsible for him. But you are not responsible enough to actually keep an eye on him aside from using spies or security cameras to spy on him, so nothing really personal. Your wealthy because you are prepared to pay a reasonable amount of money to spy on your little brother. If you are so loaded, you can always give me a voluntary contribution if you wish, I will not mind. You are worried because of Sherlock's drug addiction. You more than once saved his life, and that scarred you too.

But none of that is shown on the outside. All you show on the outside is sternness, wonder where Sherlock got that from? You are smart and you use it to your advantage in government. But you see mr. Holmes, you are addicted, just like Sherlock. You are addicted to your work. You are ice cold on the outside and you will never show anyone any emotion whatsoever because you think they are inferior to your great brain.

Did I miss anything?'

She might just as well have said her name, this speech was the greatest giveaway she could have possibly given about herself. Mycroft stared at her for a moment, but Alice was tired of listening to Sherlock's stuck up brother who thought everyone and everything was inferior to him.

Without saying anything else, she walked out of Speedy's and past the door to 221B Baker Street to escape Mycroft's look. But it did not take her long to turn around and through avoiding the window to Speedy's, she entered the house and she went back to her own studio, leaving Mycroft completely stunned and, maybe for the first time in his life, genuinely confused.


	15. How Life Goes

Chapter 15: How Life Goes

Alice leaned back, twirling a pencil between her fingers. There was a piece of paper in front of her, which had the title of her course on it and the date, 22nd of march 2010. The lecturer was telling all sorts of things as an introduction to anatomy of the human body and all the students around Alice were busy penning every single word down. She had enrolled together with other students who had done either and internship or a period abroad before starting their studies half a year later. She was late, since it was already the beginning of march, but she didn't think she was behind on any of her fellow students. Sometimes Alice would close her eyes and look at the files upon files that had already been stored in her cabinet marked "Medicine and all things I need to know to become a doctor". She felt her fingers move as she browsed through the files, as one was being filled at that very moment. She wouldn't miss a syllable, like all her fellow students she would make notes. Mental notes. She looked around at the cabinets surrounding the one with the bustling file that got bigger and bigger. That was her advantage, Sherlock had said a couple of days earlier. She was young, and just like him she could browse through her mind and all the knowledge she had, while at the same time listening attentively and saving all the new knowledge that was being thrown at her. Her eye was caught by the stockpile of loose files. She moved towards them and perused all the files individually. "English", "Arabic", "German", "Russian", "Spanish". It wouldn't be long until that pile would grow too big and topple over, but there was no use in organising them. Then she turned and looked at her wall of profiles. Her biggest storage of knowledge, all linked to human behaviour, outward appearance and all things that could be influential in profiling a supposed criminal. All the lines drawn with red rope were because of a current case. The ones in yellow were for yet another one, and so was the blue one. Alice browsed the red line, which was for the Murder on Winchester Road. A murder committed in broad daylight in a busy street, but with no witnesses. The other two were not cases in a way of murders or kidnappings. One was of John Watson, the man that intrigued her, because he could stand her father's proximity and not go insane, without being on the same level as the consulting detective. The other one had gone a little stale, the dust was collecting on the little rope. Stephen Bainbridge. Alice didn't really know why she had kept the profile she had created about the young cab driver she had only met once a couple of months ago, but she couldn't just let it go, since it could be of importance in the future. She opened her eyes and looked at the lecturer again. She glanced at the clock that was hanging on the wall right in front of her. 11.47. Only a few more minutes and the man would stop talking. Everyone would grab their stuff and rush out to get lunch in the cafeteria. Not that Alice didn't want to eat, she just didn't think it would be smart, considering they had a dissection straight after lunch. They wouldn't have to do any of the cutting, yet, that was something they would do in a month or two. However, seeing the dissection take place from a distance could be just as disturbing. They just didn't realise it yet. Their bad. With her head going into two directions again, her thoughts and picking up the information the lecturer was giving, Alice continued to think about the various corpses she had already seen in her, compared to her fellow students, short life. Mostly she had seen them without her mother knowing, when she had heard of some sort of crime happing close by. And when she had just arrived in London, she had visited an exhibition with dissected and stripped bodies. At the time without a real purpose other than the fact that she was bored, but in hindsight it turned out to be a good way to kill time and gain knowledge she would need in the future, at the same time. When the lecturer stopped talking, Alice packed her blank sheet of paper and her pencil in a small bag she had with her. She grabbed her phone and headphones and her coat. It was getting warmer and she was now wearing a black trenchcoat, but she would wear a white scarf with it to keep her neck warm. She went outside to spend her hour and a half lunch break there, before heading to the dissection. She had packed herself some lunch and was planning on eating it by herself in the first sunlight of the year, with only her headphones as company. When she exited the building and scanned the square in front of the university, she quickly turned to a man in a long coat and a dark blue scarf, though it was a different one than the one Alice had given him, he apparently owned multiple of them now. She stopped next to him, but looked past him.

'How far are you with the Winchester Road murder?'

Alice continued to look ahead, at a couple that was snogging each other for what seemed ages. What was the fun in that? You couldn't even look at each other, you were too close to not go cross-eyed if you did and apparently it was considered rude and a reason for girls to break up with their boyfriends over if you kept your eyes open. Idiots.

'Lestrade has arrested a suspect who was seen close to Winchester Road who had a criminal record.'

'Idiot.'

Sherlock curled up the corners of his mouth and a soft low chuckle could be heard. Alice looked at him and their eyes met. She started to laugh as well.

'Had lunch already?'

Alice shook her head.

'Good.'

Alice looked back at her University building one last time, before she joined her father, who had already started walking towards the street, where he turned left and continued walking, until they arrived at the place where he apparently wanted to have lunch.

'Sandwich?'

Alice nodded.

'Yes, but nothing with meat on it, I have a dissection after lunch.'

Sherlock chuckled softly and Alice returned a smile.

'Coffee then?'

Alice nodded gratefully. Sherlock went to the counter to order as Alice sat down on a table near the window. She draped her coat on her chair and sat down. Looking out she observed those passing the shop as well as those she saw in the reflection of the window. As Sherlock put the cups of coffee on the table, he could see her eyes fleeting from one side to the other.

'Stop working Alice.'

Alice looked up and stifled a laugh. They drank their coffee in silence for a while. Until Sherlock opened his mouth.

'So, the Winchester Road murder. Casual hit and run?'

Alice, still sipping her cup, shook her head sharply.

'No, the victim was a creature of habit. He did the same thing every single day. Walked the same route every day and would be in that street at the exact same moment every day. That is hardly a coincidence that he was murdered in a busy street that he would go through every day.'

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

'So? The suspect?'

Alice put her cup down.

Male, in his thirties or early forties. Owns a large short haired dog who is quite brutal and violent, and likes to jump up against his owner. Probably not a criminal record, considering the fact that the victim must have known the suspect and that said victim was known for completely background checking all people he was acquainted with. Considering the angle and the vigour of the stabbing, approximately 6 foot 1 inch tall and muscular built. The speed and accuracy of the stabs indicates knowledge of veins and soft tissue points. Either a doctor or a soldier with marksman's ability. The build rather suggests soldier. That and the angle gives us the information that the killer is left-handed. A left-handed sniper and known killer just returned from service in Iraq. Sergeant Lennox to be precise, the victim's left-handed childhood neighbour and friend. Motive, in the early days, Lennox and victim struck a deal when they both committed fraud and received loads of money via whitewashing. Lennox lost all his money due to victim's bets and was completely broke. However, upon being confronted with it, victim said he was completely innocent, that it had all been Lennox's own fault and that there was no way that he was going to go back to that moment in his life, that, though it had made him filthy rich, also repelled him. The victim just had the bad luck that Lennox's temper was not much to speak off since his return from Iraq, and he was not going to let go on this matter that easily. He observed the victim for a few days, knew his route, and then one day took out his army knife, which was his favourite method of killing and went for it, mingling in the crowd and sufficiently bumping into the victim, stabbing him three times in 7 seconds. Once in the brachial artery upon approaching him from the side, then by just scratching the ascending aorta by turning towards him and then by plunging the carotid artery as a way to know for sure that he was going to be disposed of. Before anyone could see what had happened, he had moved into a different crowd and left, quickly putting the knife away by putting it in a sheath around his ankle by tying his shoe laces only a few metres from the crime scene.'

Sherlock nodded in complete agreement. He was on the trail of Lennox already, but he could not have pinpointed the motive and the manner in such detail yet. Alice picked up her cup of coffee again and took another sip. She was still more of a tea person, but the occassional cup of coffee would keep her more alert from time to time didn't hurt.

'And how is the study?'

Alice had to stop herself from spurting her sip of coffee all over the table.

'Don't try to make small talk with me Sherlock. It is _not_ your style.'

She put her cup down on the table.

'But the study is going alright. I am going to start a new one next week. Law. Just an addition to my curriculum. Alongside medicine.'

Sherlock nodded.

'Obviously.'

They finished their coffee and both got up again. Without saying another word they walked out of the shop and back to the university, where Sherlock stopped in front of the door.

'Obviously I am not coming with you.'

Alice, who wrapped her coat a little tighter around her body, turned around and looked at her father.

'Clearly.'

Sherlock wanted to turn and walk away, but then seemed to change his mind and turned back around.

'There is another case that might be coming up, but I am not quite sure what to make of it yet. The client is coming over tomorrow morning, if I send John out early enough, would you mind consulting with me?'

Alice started to smile, they had been solving crimes alongside each other, but never together. Maybe this would be their time to solve a crime as the two Holmes's. She nodded.

'Gladly.'

Sherlock put his hands in his pockets.

'Good, I will see you tomorrow at 10.15 sharp. The client is coming at 10, but then I have a moment to decide whether it would be worth our time and abilities.'

Alice nodded, 10.15 would give her enough time to prep with Mrs. Hudson for Speedy's and then go upstairs to find out what she and her father were going to do. Before Sherlock could turn around, Alice opened her mouth.

'What is the case about?'

Sherlock turned around.

'Something about a diamond. The Jaria Diamond or something along those lines.'

Alice looked at her father as he turned around and walked away. Then she turned around and went towards the operating room that was located in the basement. Most of her fellow students were already there, some were still eating their sandwich or sipping on their coffee. Idiots, but they will figure that out soon enough. Alice took her own coat off and put a lab coat on, washed her hands and dried them, constantly keeping her eyes on the students waiting on the other side of the wall. As she walked in, the professor entered from the other side of the room.

'Everyone washed their hands and lower arms? Everyone got a face mask?'

All the students looked a little flustered, Alice being the only one who nodded as she fastened the mask around her neck. Then the door opened again and a table with a corpse was rolled in by an attendant. The corpse was already opened up to save time, making the inside organs visible. Alice moved a little closer, as some of the students turned away to vomit in the litter boxes in the corner. Before the attendant could open her mouth, Alice had already done it.

'Male, late forties, early fifties, two day old corpse. Fractured hip. Surgery two years ago and another surgery in the same place about 9 months ago. Cause of death: Kidney failure.'

The people around her looked intently at her, including the teacher.

'That was spot on, miss...'

'Ho...Reynolds, Alice Reynolds.'


	16. The Jaria Diamond

Chapter 16: The Jaria Diamond

'Alice dear could you please check on Sherlock upstairs. I keep on hearing things but I'm a little busy.'

Alice turned around and saw Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway to the kitchen of Speedy's, her hands completely covered in dough. Alice, who was putting a few little pastries away in the cooler, nodded and closed the cooler. She warmed her hands to the side of her jeans and then took off her apron, which she neatly placed on the side of the counter.

'Don't worry Mrs. Hudson. I'm sure it's nothing.'

Mrs. Hudson nodded.

'I hope so, he has been making such a mess again. I don't know how you deal with that.'

Alice chuckled, Mrs. Hudson would never understand the system. The landlady, in the mean time, had turned around and had already returned to her kitchen. When Alice entered the little kitchen, it smelled of delicious pecan pies in the oven. Mrs. Hudson was now making little cherry pastries, making her already doughy fingers red with cherry juice. Alice sneaked past her, grabbing a cherry in her passing, resulting in a soft pat from Mrs. Hudson.

'Watch it young lady!'

Alice grinned widely as she snuck past the lady on the other side, grabbing another cherry from one of the pastries, then she made a run for the door to avoid Mrs. Hudson.

'Delicious Mrs. Hudson.'

Mrs. Hudson, who watched the girl disappear behind her front door, smiled and shook her head as she turned back to her pastries. Silly girl.

Alice slowly walked up the stairs towards the apartment of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. She quickly glanced at her watch. Ten past ten. She was five minutes early, but considering the noise and the fact that Mrs. Hudson was worried, it wouldn't hurt if she was a little early. She walked up the final two steps and glanced into the kitchen, which was still rather clean. Then she heard more noises coming from the living room and suddenly Sherlock stumbled into view, landing on the couch. He was followed by a man waving either a Talwar or a Shamshir, Alice couldn't see it clearly due to the speed of the blade. He wore in a long pastel coloured dress, and a turban which was also covering the larger part of his face. Alice gritted her teeth, it was not that she had something against people who wore clothing that covered almost their entire body, she just didn't like the fact that she couldn't figure out who these people were because of it. Then she thought about the case again. The Jaria Diamond. Wasn't Jaria a tiny little village in Iran? Considering this little skirmish going on right in front of her, Alice knew two things now. For one, the potential client was from somewhere in Iran, and this was most likely not him, considering the little henchman. Rich man, probably not entirely legal. Two, her father was not taking the Jaria Diamond Case. Most likely scenario. Only possible scenario. Just a simple lost diamond, not worth our time. She took a few steps forward, so she was able to fold her arms and lean against the doorpost as the fight moved further back into the living room, after Sherlock had pushed the swordsman away with his feet, got up, adjusted his blazer and then rushed forward again. Alice waited in the doorway for a while, her arms folded in front of her. She heard rumbling in the kitchen, scratching, moaning. She wasn't going to intrude, this was her father's fight, not hers. Sherlock reappeared in the living room again, with his back turned to his daughter, and he faced the masked swordsman again. But his eyes had been caught by the young girl with dark brown curls in dark jeans and a white shirt. A slight smirk could be seen gliding over Sherlock Holmes's face in the reflection of the mirror, right before he dived to avoid the sword, got up and pointed at the mirror.

'Look!'

The swordsman suddenly looked up. Alice grinned and waved sweetly. Sherlock knocked him out and the veiled Iranian collapsed on Sherlock's chair. Stupid idiot. Not many people could ignore the calling out of someone else telling them to look somewhere, and apparently he was part of that lot. Sherlock looked in the mirror, brushed the creases out of his blazer and looked at the man passed out in his chair one last time before turning around towards Alice, who was still grinning while leaning against the doorpost.

'Looking splendid as ever Mr. Holmes.'

Sherlock's disdainful look turned into a slight smile.

'Exactly on time. I didn't expect any less.'

Alice smiled as she pushed herself loose from the doorpost and towards the man in the chair. She leaned forward, keeping her eyes fixed on the steady breathing man, he was still passed out. With a cautious hand, she pulled the veil in front of the man's face away and looked into a tinted face with a three day beard and a long scar on his left cheekbone. Sherlock, who had readjusted his papers on the table, which had been dishevelled, looked up, and into the face.

'Know him?'

Alice, her face turned away from her father, looking at the Shamshir, she now knew which sword it was, turned to the man again, and started to grin.

'Actually, yes. He was my boyfriend. He was coming over to talk to you about his missing family heirloom. I was actually the one to send him to you.'

Alice looked at Sherlock, who now looked up, completely flustered. The papers were still firmly placed in his hand, but his eyes went from Alice to the man in his chair. Was she being serious, he could never know with her. Was she faking her emotions, she seemed to be genuinely upset. Did he really knock out her boyfriend here? But, how. Too much confusion, and he didn't like to be confused. His face was falling, in his eyes doubt was visible, with a spark of worry. He put the papers down and turned to Alice.

'Really?'

Alice saw her father's response, saw it building up second by second. Like her father could manipulate people, she apparently could manipulate her father too. She couldn't hide the sly grin that was appearing on her face.

'Never seen him before in my life.'

A slight smirk, but then realising how his daughter had manipulated his thought processes and how she had made him doubt himself, he turned up his nose and picked up the papers. Alice stood up straight.

'Oh really. You can manipulate people all the time, but when I do it to you you're suddenly offended?'

Sherlock sat down on the couch with the papers in his hands.

'It's my job to manipulate, that is the only way to extract the necessary information from people. People should not know that they are being manipulated, yet you should be in charge of the communication at all times.'

Alice nodded, still with one eye on the knocked out man next to her.

'And you don't want to admit that I might have taken over the control for one moment.'

Sherlock quickly glanced up, before looking back at the mails he had printed with potential cases. Boring. Dull. Solved. Solved. Dull. Dull. Why even bother? Boring. Alice remained quiet for a while, but then she started moving again. She was standing close enough now to look at the mails, even though she had to read them upside down.

'Dull. Boring. Too Easy. Solved.'

'What is it you want?'

Alice grinned.

'Nothing. But you promised me a case. I am not seeing one.'

Sherlock looked up, visibly annoyed.

'If you are just going to stand there, I'd rather have you leave.'

Alice stood up straight again and pulled down her shirt.

'I understand. You need your space.'

Sherlock's face changed. Was she playing him again? She never gave up this easily. He looked straight in her eyes, where he noticed a spark of disappointment. Her face was still telling, or did she make it telling. She was outsmarting him at his own game, and he didn't like it. But then Alice left, suddenly she had turned around and walked away. But not downstairs, she walked towards his bedroom. She didn't close the door and came out soon after, holding a large white sheet. She came back into the room in silence, followed by the eyes of Sherlock. She stopped next to the man and grabbed his feet. Suddenly he started to stir, even a powerful punch in the face was not going to give eternal unconsciousness. But that didn't last long. Alice noticed the stirring within seconds and quickly lifted her left hand and knocked the man out again. Sherlock put down his papers and stood up.

'No. You need space. So I give you space.'

Alice dragged the swordsman on the sheet and then pulled him towards the door. Sherlock watched in silence as the slender girl pulled the full grown, unconscious man. He couldn't help but chuckle a little. Alice was almost at the stairs when she noticed that the weight had decreased. She looked up and saw Sherlock, holding the other side of the sheet. She stopped and looked at him for a while. Sherlock noticed the eyes piercing through his soul and looked up as well.

'What?'

Alice continued to look at him, silent.

'Are you going to say something.'

'I thought you should.'

Sherlock snorted.

'Like what?'

Alice looked at him for a moment, but then shrugged her shoulders and pulled the man on the sheet towards the stairs. When they were downstairs, she opened the door and they dragged him outside. Sherlock put the feet down and called a cab, while Alice held up the head of the man and tried to keep him away from the curious passers-by. The cab stopped right next to them and Sherlock flung the door open. They hauled the Iranian Swordsman on the back seat and shoved him in. Then Sherlock turned to the cabbie, who was looking on with big eyes.

'Could you please take this gentleman to Heathrow airport, he needs to catch a flight, but he was too fast asleep.'

Alice smirked as she vehemently pulled the sheet from under the man's body. Then she turned to the cabbie and instantly recognised him. She took a step towards her father and the cabbie, he could see her too now.

'Alice.'

Alice turned her smirk into a smile.

'Stephen.'

Sherlock, who recognised the familiarity between the two, straightened his back. He looked around for a moment, but then his eyes were caught by the unconscious man on the back seat of the cab and he moved towards it, he leaned in and pulled the limp body up a little.

'You get the message? NOT interested.'

His voice was no more than a low rumble and not distinguishable if you were not standing immediately next to him. He dropped the body again and couldn't repress the smirk as he stood up again. He immediately saw Alice and the cabbie again. Alice was standing up straight, like she would often do, one of her hands casually yet sternly placed in her pocket. The cabbie was leaning forward and was a little visible from where Sherlock was standing. After the short moment of recognition, Stephen had asked Alice what she had been up to after their little adventure. Alice had stoically answered his questions, but she was smiling now. Then Stephen saw Sherlock standing staring at the two of them. He beckoned Alice to come a little closer, and Alice, unlike her normal self, but commonly curious about what the cabdriver/soldier/queen's guard wanted from her, leaned in and placed one hand on the open window.

'Is that him? Your father?'

Alice quickly glanced at Sherlock, who was trying to surreptitiously get closer to catch the conversation. He immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw his daughter's eyes on him. Then she turned back to Stephen and gave a short nod. Then she stood up straight again within a second.

'Now, could you please take this sir to Heathrow? How much would that be?'

She looked at Sherlock, clearly waiting for him to pay the cabbie in advance. Stephen named a price and, still suspicious, Sherlock pulled his wallet and took out the money. His eyes were fixed on Alice though, who looked straight back. Stephen took the money and counted it, put it away and when Sherlock stood straight again, he pulled up and drove away, closing the window as he did so. It was quiet as father and daughter watched the cab go. Then Alice quickly turned back to the door.

'This is the first and the last time I am taking out your dirty laundry, just so you know.'

Sherlock turned to her and followed her in.

'Who was that cabbie?'

Alice, who was still holding the white sheet, turned around.

'Why would you want to know?'

Sherlock pulled his blazer down again.

'You seemed...acquainted.'

She turned around again and up the stairs, quickly followed by Sherlock. She remained quiet until she had put the sheet back in Sherlock's bedroom. But when she turned around to go back to the living room, her path was blocked by her father, standing in the doorway.

'Who is he Alice?'

Alice stifled a laugh.

'Are you being a caring father now?'

Sherlock's stern face fell. Alice made him do things he had never done before, and she made him aware of it, making him unsure. John would also do such things, forcing him to reflect on his actions and doubt whether he was always right. He wanted to fight it, be as emotionless as he could be, but Alice had called him out, again. She used his moment of uncertainty to squirm past him. But she wasn't fast enough and Sherlock grabbed her wrist and spoke in a low voice.

'Whatever you're doing, stop it now.'

Alice looked up at the emotionless face of her father, but then she shook her head. The pressure on her wrist intensified.

'You will stop it.'

She wouldn't wince in pain, she mirrored his expression, not showing any emotion.

'I can't.'

Sherlock's hold weakened.

'What?'

'I can't stop you from becoming a little more human.'

Sherlock released his grip, but Alice didn't move.

'Human.'

Alice nodded.

'It's not a crime, it might even be nice to not be a machine all the time.'

The two of them were still standing in the doorway, when the key in the front door downstairs was turned and the two of them could hear the door being pushed open with some force. They both looked at the stairs, and without a second thought, they started moving. Alice back into the bedroom, closing the door in front of her, Sherlock back to his chair, where he quickly grabbed a book he had been reading earlier and opened it, all this before John Watson reached the top of the stairs of 221b Baker Street.


	17. Don't be a machine

Chapter 17: Don't be a machine

Alice turned around and looked around the bedroom. She hadn't really paid attention to the room before, she had always considered it her father's private domain and not to be tempered with. Next to the door she found a periodic table, which didn't surprise her at all. She turned to the cabinet filled with all sorts of things, including a bust of Goethe, whom Alice only knew as the writer of one of the Faust's, but maybe her father could teach her something more about the man. Then she turned 180 degrees to something that had caught her attention from the first moment and the only thing she had already taken a closer look at. The Wardrobe. She stared at herself in the mirror and then immediately opened the doors. Sets of neatly piled blouses and on the hangers perfectly neat sets of blazers and pants. Three pairs of shoes were standing underneath them. But then she noticed the other things hanging in the closet. A big police coat with reflectors, a lab coat, various glasses, moustaches and all kinds of other things. Alice looked at them for a while, but then she pulled up her hair in a high bun, the short hairs falling out, hanging right above her eyes. She brushed them to the right as she put on the first pair of glasses.

Sherlock was still sitting in the living room, holding _Gotz von Berlingen_ in his hand, but he wasn't reading. He looked up as John Watson entered the living room, who was standing in the middle of the room, seemingly lost. What was it with this man and getting lost? Only a few days ago, Sherlock and him had been walking around London and suddenly the little man was gone. After half an hour Sherlock had seem him wandering around as he himself was sitting on a bench in St. James's Park. John had apparently missed Sherlock taking a sudden turn and after that had lost his way, unable to find both his flatmate and his flat for the matter. He responded in the same manner now as he had done when John had approached him in the park.

'You took your time.'

'Yeah, I didn't get to shopping.'

Sherlock looked up, feigning his surprise, supressing his smirk. He had gotten lost again, who could have foreseen it. Sherlock Holmes did. He pitched up his voice.

'What? Why not?'

John turned to Sherlock, now again orientated on where he was and where to direct his speech.

'Because I had a row in the shop, with a chip and pin machine.'

 _You got lost again, how telling._ The words were burning on Sherlock's tongue, but then John's words dawned on him. He had had a row...with a... machine? He didn't get lost on his way to the ASDA...he...

'You had a row with a machine?'

 _More human. It's not a crime to not act like a machine all the time._ Remember that Sherlock, don't be a machine, don't be like Mycroft, not _all the time_. Maybe admit that you have to let go of the control of a conversation for once.

'Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abusively.'

Don't be a machine, lose control. No, you can't, don't be like any other human being. But then Sherlock started to smile when he heard Alice's voice in his head again: ' _Are_ _you being a caring father now?_ ' She couldn't stop him from being more human, but that wouldn't mean that he could not hold himself back a little. He couldn't hide his smile though as John continued talking.

'Have you got cash?'

Still smiling, though not because of John's row with a machine, or anything about John for the matter, Sherlock responded. _Don't_ _be a machine, act human._

'Take my card.'

He motioned the wallet that he had placed on the dining table in the kitchen after he had gotten upstairs again. He followed John with his eyes as he walked to the kitchen to get the wallet, then turned his eyes back to the book, even though he was still not reading. Halfway to the kitchen, John turned around though. Sherlock noticed it immediately. Oh, here we go again, another lecture on how he should get up out of his chair and do something. He was doing more than enough, right here where he was, even when John couldn't see it. He looked up from his book, seemingly innocent.

'You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left.'

Not moved, oh John, if only you knew how much I have moved. He turned a page, still pretending to read. He sighed, John wasn't done yet, but it was no use telling him about the fight he had had that morning, he wouldn't believe it, his mind was way too placid, even for an army doctor it seemed so out of use and so void of imagination whatsoever.

'What happened about that case you were offered? The Jaria Diamond?'

A few more pages were flipped. No, don't care about Gotz anymore. Sherlock put a small piece of paper serving as a bookmark in between the pages and closed the book. In that motion noticed the Shamshir halfway underneath his chair.

'Not interested.'

He quickly got up a little and shoved it underneath his chair a little more using his shoe. He sat up straight again, suddenly jostled back into his state of mind when the Iranian had entered his living room that morning. The sword sheathed, just like his face. He had explained the case, standing in the middle of the room, refusing to take a seat. When Sherlock had told him that the case was not worth his time, the man had threatened with all sorts of things. Sherlock had continued to refuse and had wanted to walk away, when the Shamshir had been unsheathed and the man had started swinging it at the consulting detective. Then he revisited the memory of the man, knocked out on the very same seat that he was sitting on at the very moment.

'I sent them a message.'

He followed John, as he walked around the table, found the scratch the swordsman had made when he had attempted to slit Sherlock's throat on the kitchen table, and attempted to wipe it away a little bit. Then the army doctor looked up, his eyes demanding an answer for the scratch that had suddenly appeared on the table, while Sherlock had not moved at all during the entire morning. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. Without saying another word, John disappeared from the kitchen and his feet could be heard running down the stairs, with the card of Sherlock Holmes safely in his own wallet, ready for some grocery shopping. Then Sherlock started to smile, oh John, if only you knew. He looked at his wall with the couch in front of it, it was a bit of a bare wall, it needed some fun, some more colour aside from this boring grey with black curly things all over it. It had been Mrs. Hudson's influence on the apartment, and one of the things Sherlock didn't change, but that didn't mean it would stay that way. Then he got up again, remembering Alice, who was still in his bedroom. He quickly bounced to the door, not that he was excited, he was just going to get his daughter out of his bedroom, she was still in his domain and he actually preferred her outside it. When he came to the door, he quickly opened it, and stopped in the doorway. The coat was a little broad, but it fit well enough. The heels coming out from underneath the slightly long pants made up for the length. The hair coming over the straightened collar was dark brown and curly. The length of it was partially hidden in the messy bun on top of the head. Sherlock stood and waited until the person standing in front of his wardrobe would turn around. He wouldn't have to wait long, since the person had already noticed him in the mirror. With hands curled around the edges of the coat, Alice turned around and faced her father. Dressed in his blouse, pants and blazer and wearing one of his spare coats and scarfs. She was still wearing her own shoes, a pair of black classic heels. Not the most logical choice, but she couldn't live without them. Where all other fifteen-year-olds would wear sneakers, she always walked around on heels, they felt jusy as comfortable to her. Her cheekbones and the collar were on one line, the look was similar to that of Sherlock when he was just looking around, the green eyes cold, but he could see the slight sparkle in them too. He took it all in.

'You clearly found my wardrobe interesting.'

Alice turned back to the mirror in the closet and smiled.

'I played a little dress up in your disguises closet. But this one seems to be the best.'

Sherlock continued to look at her. _Take it off_. He wanted her out of his clothing, nobody had any business with them. Nobody. Just like he had told Alice to put his violin down, he wanted to force her to take off the clothes just the same. She was already so much like him, a perfect copy. Her mother was gone in her appearance, which he could not have predicted when he had met her. She had turned around again and then back to Sherlock. With her hair up. Why did she look so much like him? Alice saw the expression on her father's face.

'I'll take it off. I don't mind.'

Sherlock continued to look at Alice as she took off the scarf. But then he shook his head.

'No. Not if you want to wear it.'

Alice looked surprised.

'Excuse me?'

Sherlock started to turn around and go back to the living room.

'Don't ask me to say it again.'

He walked back to the living room, but it took a while before Alice joined him, dressed in her own clothes again, aside from the blazer. She was also still holding one of the scarfs. She sat down on the red chair and stared straight at her father. Sherlock stared at the ground, at the classic heels, one of which was dangling in the air.

'You will never find me apologising, so never expect that of me.'

Alice nodded.

'And I am not prone to sentiment.'

'Obviously.'

Sherlock looked up, now the coldness was real, no lively sparkle.

'Alice.'

Alice, whose eyes had gone down, went up again and she looked at Sherlock.

'You let go.'

Sherlock nodded.

'I fight it.'

'You should. It would be strange if you didn't.'

Sherlock smirked. Alice rose up from her seat again, still holding the scarf. Sherlock remained seated, looking a little down to the floor, following the heels as they disappeared from view. When Alice was almost out the door, Sherlock opened his mouth again.

'Thank you.'

Alice stopped in the doorway and turned her head around. The shorter hairs were hanging in front of her eyes and she brushed them away. But then she turned around and walked down the stairs again. Those had been the words she had been waiting for. He was fighting it, and she didn't blame him, but this was a first step to letting go just a little bit. He hadn't told her off about the scarf, but Sherlock had seen it. Don't be a machine. He would try. He would stumble, but he knew that he could succeed in this too. He would succeed in everything he attempted, he always had. This would prove to be a difficult skill to acquire, but at least he had Alice around to help him step by step. And maybe, just maybe, John. But that was something he didn't quite believe yet. He liked the man around and sort of needed someone to talk to, since his skull...

And now he noticed it, it had been there for an entire day already, he had just not noticed it. His skull was standing on the mantle. But, Mrs. Hudson had taken it, how did it get back here. Sherlock walked towards it and then noticed the little note underneath the skull, he partially lifted the thing at the temples and picked up the note.

 _Dear Sherlock,_

 _I saved your skull from the trash bag of Mrs. Hudson. Now you have the choice of three companions. Either not talking, regular human being or a copy of yourself. Choose wisely, don't be a constant machine._

 _Alice_

Sherlock smirked and looked back at the skull. That girl, she kept on surprising him, and he liked it, he actually quite liked it.


	18. The Girl in the Hills

Chapter 18: The Girl in the Hills

It was early in the morning, and John was asleep in his bedroom upstairs. Violin music was softly playing in the living room, a soft tune to make you fall asleep. Or to keep you awake. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, surrounded by books and papers. He was still thinking about the case he was given today. It had all started rather dull, with a mail of one of the people who knew him from university. One Sebastian Wilkes. He had completely erased him from his hard drive until this so-called "buddy" had send him an email about a break in that had happened at the bank where he worked. An incident. The only reason Sherlock had taken it was because he was terribly bored after his fight with the swords man that morning and was anxious to get into another one, which, unfortunately, did not happen. Sebastian had offered Sherlock and John, who had come along with him like a stray dog following the first human being he finds attractive, a five figure cheque for something that could be solved in seconds. No, something that was solved in seconds, but Sherlock would keep that much to himself now, there was a more pressing matter at hand now, something Sebastian called getting side tracked, but it was so much more than that. This was the game and it was all part of the case that he had already solved when it came to the significance of the bank, and therefore still part of what he was supposed to do. But that did mean that he had to solve a murder now, which was exciting in itself, if it wasn't for that stubborn DI whatshisname who didn't listen to Lestrade and just ignored his advise, which made his job ten times harder. Slightly annoyed with the thoughts buzzing in his head, Sherlock glanced up at the chair in front of him. It was empty, aside from a law book. It was opened on a certain page, but not read at the moment.

'They call it procrastinating.'

The violin kept on playing, the sound coming from the window. Sherlock smirked and turned back to his papers and other books. He felt calm, even though the adrenaline of the case was running through him. It was 3.23 in the morning, he had not slept. Around 3.00 he had texted downstairs, not really expecting an answer. He didn't get an answer, at least not a text. His answer came in the shape of soft, socked footsteps on the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Dressed in a long robe, a pair of pyjama pants and a long sleeve shirts, long hair in a messy bun, even more messy now since she had not pulled it out since the morning. Holding a pile of books for both medical and law studies she was standing in the doorway for a moment before she entered the room and placed them on the floor in front of the red chair. Without saying a word, only under the watchful eye of Sherlock on her, Alice had picked up the Union Jack pillow and threw it to the other side of the room.

'Can't sleep?'

Then Alice looked up, as she was sitting down on the chair, her feet folded underneath her body.

'Night owl.'

Sherlock smirked.

'And a morning person?'

Alice smirked.

'Used to be, until I started reading this and I kept on doing things until late.'

Sherlock nodded.

'You worked your way to a night owl.'

Alice followed suit. For a while Alice had leaved through her books, but it wasn't long until Sherlock was the only one doing that. Alice stood up and walked to the window, wrapping her robe tightly around her in the process. The street was barely lit, there was nobody out and about at this hour.

'You want to play?'

Alice turned her head around, Sherlock was still looking at his book, but she knew he was talking to her. Without actually answering, she turned to the violin next to the window and picked it up. She whipped the bow while stroking the violin with a soft finger. The whipping of the bow curled the corners of Sherlock's lips up. When the first notes sounded through the room, he closed his eyes for a moment. It was something he did automatically, fill his ears with the music he was playing, hoping it would stay there forever, calming him when he there was chaos, preventing him from giving in to his other means of preventing boredom and chaos. Alice hadn't played with him being in the same room for a while, she would always play when he was away, or just somewhere that he couldn't hear it. Now he could read and fill his ears with the music of a violin. Such a soft tune, played by heads that were not yet rough from all the things he had done over the years, still able to perform the soft tunes he could only dream of. 3.24. Alice had been playing for 16 minutes straight now. Sherlock looked at the law book that was still lying on the abandoned chair without the Union Jack pillow in it, as if John Watson had suddenly been deleted from the flat, or rather discarded into a dark corner not lighted by the streetlights.

'Thank you for returning my skull.'

Alice didn't stop playing for a moment, finishing her newest part of improvisation before slowly fading the music out. She opened her eyes and looked at the back of her father's head, her eyes quickly glancing up at the skull on the mantle.

'Your welcome.'

Sherlock smiled, though Alice could not see it. There she was, the real human being inside her, still polite and responsive to a persons feelings and following human conventions in communication. Before he started talking again, he lowered his voice again and the smile faded.

'I found the note you had left too.'

Alice slowly put down the bow, but she was still carrying the violin as she moved around the grey leather chair towards the chair with the lonely law book, plunking the strings as she turned around to face her father, her eyes were looking down at the strings, before she looked up.

'What did you think?'

'I still feel like you are my best choice when I want a response from anyone. You at least know what you are talking about. John seems to be a stray dog following me around at times and all the sound ever coming from him is when he is astounded by my intellect.'

Alice stifled a laugh, causing Sherlock's head to shoot up.

'Is that funny?'

Alice stopped laughing and shook her head. She stopped plucking at the strings and walked around her chair, with one hand she wiped the book to the floor, she sat down and placed the violin on her knees.

'Why don't you give John Watson a chance?'

Sherlock stared back into Alice's eyes, the both of them maintaining eye contact at all times and trying to blink the bare minimum of times they could.

'You're afraid you were wrong about him, that he isn't up for the challenge. You think that it is best to leave him out of everything.'

'You're afraid of what your mother is going through. She sent you a train ticket to come home and you are not planning to use it anytime soon. You haven't texted her since you received your acceptations into university and it's gnawing away on you. You want to sleep, but you also want to learn. You live on coffee and ginger nuts, not a bad choice if I may say so, but even you know that that is bad.'

Alice blinked a couple of times, breaking their connection. She leaned back into the chair, her hands resting on the violin. Sherlock leaned forward.

'I can still read you too, don't worry.'

He smirked, but he quickly realised that Alice didn't find it quite as funny as he did. What was it that I said, something about her mother. And University. He looked again. He thought she would have appreciated this little insight into her own head, like she would give him every once in a while. Apparently he had been wrong, but the trouble was that he didn't know what to say next.

'You...'

Alice looked away, tears suddenly burning in her eyes. She didn't want to go home, but after 8 months, she was starting to miss her mother somewhere deep down. Sherlock leaned back into his chair.

'You know you are probably already theoretically outsmarting most of your professors.'

Alice couldn't stop her laugh from coming out, she was crying, missing her mother, and her father was talking about intellectual achievements. He couldn't help it, it was his safety shield.

'I know dad, I know.'

Sherlock's head went up a bit and then stopped, his eyes a little wide. He tried to remember when it had happened for the first time. It had startled him, and it startled him again. Only twice before had Alice called him her father in his face before, not counting the time that she had told Mrs. Hudson that he was not the world's greatest father. He could never have believed it if it hadn't been for the clear evidence staring him right in the face the day he had met her. Today he wouldn't have believed it as well, but maybe with more ease, considering the girl that was sitting opposite him now. He remained quiet for a while, staring blankly into the distance. Then Alice got up, noticing the blank stare and walked past her father, putting the violin back in its place. As she passed him again, she stopped next to him, doubting whether what she was about to do would be a smart idea or the worst idea she could ever have. Then she continued her walk to the kitchen. No, not the right time. She turned around in the doorway.

'Tea?'

Sherlock, brought back to earth by the sound of her voice, focused on Alice and nodded. She turned to the kettle, filled it with water and lighted the fire. She grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and quietly put them on the counter. She stared at the kettle, which was starting to boil and was the only sound to be heard in the flat for quite some time. The moment the kettle was boiling, Alice tool it off in order not to wake the sleeping doctor upstairs. They were taking a risk by having her up here when John Watson was only one flight of stairs away. Alice hadn't thought of it that much before this moment, and now she no longer really minded. She poured the hot water into the mugs and made tea, which she then took back to the living room where she placed one cup on the little table beside Sherlock's chair. He was reading again. She picked up her law book and started reading again. She could see the slight glance of Sherlock as he noticed that she had actually picked up a book and also saw every move he made when he flipped a page or picked up his tea. At 5.46, Alice had to suppress a yawn. She had been awake for almost 24 hours by now and she really wanted to sleep. Sherlock saw it and abruptly closed his book.

'Time to get the appropriate two hours of sleep before another day.'

He immediately rose from his chair and picked up his empty mug and Alice's too. Alice slowly closed her book and started to gather her books. She got up and looked at Sherlock, who was standing at the counter in the kitchen, holding on to it tightly.

'Sherlock?'

She walked towards him and immediately noticed that something was wrong. She placed her books on the kitchen table and walked towards the counter. Where had it come from? She hadn't seen it there before. Why was it lying there? The syringe immediately caught her attention and brought up many questions as well. Before she knew what she was doing, she was holding on to Sherlock's arm, preventing him from moving it. He wanted to shake it off, his eyes were completely focused on the syringe that had been in the back of a drawer, underneath a hidden bottom. His reserve, for when he would need it. 5% solution, just a little bit, to help him up again when things were too bad. But were things bad now? He was solving a murder and even though the DI was not working with him, that would not stop him from solving the crime himself. No, life was not bad in that respect, it was not that. So what was it? He saw a vague picture of a woman in front of him. She was smiling at him, waving a little. A young woman, brown hair and a few freckles on her nose. She was surrounded by green hills and a bright blue sky. She was so young. He had hurt her. Where did this come from? Hidden deep in his memory this young woman approached him, and as she did, the sky got darker and the green faded. Her smile disappeared and she looked almost angry. His body started moving again, or was it only his arm? He was reaching for the girl. Was he going to comfort her? Or hit her because she was being too sentimental and too attached to him? Sudden pain stopped him in his tracks. He was jostled back to the kitchen, the syringe was gone from his eyesight, he looked around for it and found it, dangling in the air only a few inches away from him. But he couldn't reach it.

'Don't you dare. Don't you dare!'

Her voice was getting louder. Sherlock didn't see her. But then he felt her. Her flat hand hitting him hard on the cheek. Sherlock refocused and saw Alice, holding up the syringe. Her face stone cold, her hand still risen. Tears were visible in her eyes, but they wouldn't dare fall.

'Don't you dare do that, ever.'

Sherlock continued to stare at her, she was still there somewhere, that girl in the hills. He shook his head a few times to really focus again.

'I need to sleep.'

Alice nodded. She put the syringe on the counter, but when she noticed Sherlock's eyes wander, she immediately grabbed his arm again and guided him to his bedroom.

'You don't h...'

'Yes I do.'

She helped him take off his own robe and then she watched him from the doorway as he got into bed. Then she closed the door, rushed back to the kitchen and before the door would open again, she had taken the syringe and gone down to her own room. There she continued to look at the thing for a while, before she went to her own little kitchen, took out a tin and carefully placed the 5% solution in it, after which she shoved the tin into the farthest and darkest corner of a cabinet and she quickly closed it, so she wouldn't have to see it anymore.


	19. The Next Morning

Chapter 19: The Next Morning

The next morning, Alice was up early and dressed for her 9 o'clock class at 7.30. After what had happened only a few hours ago, she had only been turning, with her mind with the man upstairs. After an hour and a half, she had gotten up and dressed, knowing she would not sleep anymore. She put the kettle on and sat down with one of her books in her hand and sat down on her couch. After a while she stood up and when her kettle wanted to start whistling, she took it off and poured herself a large cup of tea. She read for a couple of pages before she picked up her bag, put the book in it and with bag, cup and all went out of her studio, she sneaked through Mrs. Hudson's kitchen and up the stairs. She puts her bag down softly and made her way to the door at the end of the hall. With great care she pushed down the door handle and opened it a crack. The bed was empty, but had been slept in. Alice smirked and opened the door wider, finding her father, buttoning up his white shirt, while looking in the mirror.

'Morning.'

He shifted his eyes and smirked.

'What is it with you and doorways.'

Alice took a sip from her tea and shrugged her shoulders.

'Who knows. Maybe just the fact that I am always there, but never really visible. On the threshold of visibility.'

Sherlock turned around, in the process he pulled his blazer from a hanger and put it on.

'Poetic. Is there anything you can't do?'

It was a question through which Alice could hear the attempt at being comical and she smiled slightly, and even though Sherlock wasn't waiting for an answer, she did give him one.

'Economics, those kinds of numbers are foreign to me.'

Sherlock looked up, only partially surprised that she talked back to him.

'Trust me, working in a bank is even more boring that those numbers.'

He smirked again.

'Says the person who has a degree in Finance.'

Alice smiled and took another sip of her tea. Sherlock passed her and his eye was caught by the bag lying next to the stairs.

'Criminal Law first, then Public Law, followed after lunch a physiology lecture, followed by an introduction to efficient report writing.'

Sherlock walked to the kitchen without saying a word after indicating Alice's schedule for the day. Alice followed with her cup of tea and sat down in the red chair. Sherlock entered the room again, he put a glass of water down on the table and then turned to a printer standing on one of the windowsills. He pulled the printed sheets out and picked up a roll of tape. Under the watchful eye of a tea sipping Alice, he walked towards her and put two sheets of paper in her hand. As he himself sat down on his own chair, with his own sheets of paper.

'This is what I found at a crime scene yesterday. Not a simple act of vandalism like they thought.'

Alice looked up, the snorting manner of talking, Sherlock thought not very highly of this "they". She looked back at the papers in her hand. A picture of a painting. A man in a suit, probably a boss of some sort. But the markings on the eyes, an odd yellow painting in certain figures.

'And the cypher? Some sort of code language.'

Sherlock nodded without looking up.

'Still trying to figure out which type.'

Alice looked back to the sheets, the second sheet was an enlargement of the figures, but even after taking a better look, Alice couldn't make anything of it.

'Sorry, no clue whatsoever.'

Sherlock shook his head.

'I don't like not knowing.'

He kept on staring at the sheets.

'I might need help.'

Alice looked up, but with only her eyes, she didn't want Sherlock to see that she had heard him murmur to himself. He looked normal enough, though she had the feeling that he had not really slept at all. He didn't look tired, but through his shirt sleeve she could see the shadow of two nicotine patches. He was still keeping away from the cigarettes, though she didn't know whether it was because he actually liked it this way, or because his daughter ordered him to. That and the fact that there had been sheets of paper in the printer that hadn't been there when she left and the three empty mugs on the kitchen counter she had fleetingly noticed when she had made her way to her chair. He was trying to pretend nothing happened, but she wasn't going to let it pass by so easily.

'Sherlock, what happened this morning...'

'Is no longer important. We should be focussing on the matter at hand Alice.'

Alice put the sheets in her lap.

'It is important though.'

Sherlock shook his head.

'The past is...'

'Not the past!'

Startled by the volume of her own voice, Alice quickly took a breath to calm herself down. Sherlock, just as startled by the outburst, looked up as well.

'You nearly injected yourself with cocaine only 2 hours ago if I am not mistaken. You cannot tell me that that is not important?'

Sherlock stared straight back but it took him a moment before he opened his mouth, laying out he perfectly thought out sentence.

'The fact that something happened only recently, doesn't mean that you need to keep thinking about it. There is no use in living in the past.'

His eyes got fiercer as he continued to talk.

'If I were to do that, you would have to stop me from doing things much worse than just picking up a 5% solution from my kitchen counter and hide it in your own little place.'

Alice stared straight back, not showing her fear for the green eyes that were now trying to pierce through her soul.

'You would have to pick the syringe out of me.'

Alice rose and threw the sheets of paper at her father, who now leaned back. He wasn't happy with the way he had to act, but there was no way he was going to talk to this 15-year-old about an something he had been doing for almost as long as she was alive. She was standing only inches away from him, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind that. Alice's face was red with anger.

'I know you have been doing this for a long time. I know it almost cost you your life a couple of times. Don't think I didn't see the little lists crumpled up in your Pall Mall flat. If you don't want to talk about it, fine, but don't you ever dare consider taking that stuff when you know I am in the same room again.'

Sherlock looked up, suddenly surprised by her response.

'What?'

Alice, not willing to sit down in the chair again, knelt down in front of Sherlock.

'I didn't come here to interfere in your life, just like you are not going to interfere in my life when you don't want to. I won't stop you with your ways of preventing boredom, even when they could possibly kill you.'

Aside from the smoking, she thought, but then again, she hadn't forced him to quit cold turkey, she had even given him the possibility to get more nicotine into his system than was even possible while smoking.

'All I ask is for you not to do such things when I am here. I don't want to be the one to take your syringes from you, or be the one to take them off you when it's already too late.'

She glanced at her watch. 8.08. She had to get going to be at university on time before her first class if she wanted to go by foot. She downed her tea, suddenly ending the conversation. Sherlock was still holding the sheets of paper, but now he leant forward to pick up Alice's copies, which she had thrown to the floor, breaking eye contact with her in the mean time. She wasn't stopping him. She wasn't going to stop him from being himself. When he looked up again, his surprise must have shown, since Alice was looking straight at him, now with her bag on her back.

'Think about that Sherlock. I am not your brother, whose only weakness is your way of life.'

Sherlock was getting to know her better every day. In his life he had confined himself to his brother and his parents. It was all he needed and especially in his youth he didn't want to explain himself to his friends every single moment. He didn't realise that Alice was leaning closer.

'John will not do that either.'

With that she turned around and walked out. Sherlock was left holding his papers. He remained in the same position for a while, before he stood up, put the sheets of paper on the table and walked back to the kitchen. He put the kettle on and stood there watching it as it slowly reached its boiling point. He didn't see the kettle though, he was looking at a wall with some rope tied between certain words, phrases and mental photographs. Who was Alice exactly? It had taken him many months already and he didn't figure it out yet. He was used to reading people in one glance, but he realised with her, that she wasn't such an easy nut to crack. The phrases kept piling up and they were slowly taking shape, and now he was adding something new to it. Somewhere else, another profile was being created, but he wasn't really that keen on developing it. Dr. John H. Watson. He took the kettle off at the exact moment when it wanted to start whistling and poured himself a mug which he had picked up from the small table next to the red chair. The tea was taken back to the living room, placed on the table and then forgotten.

Violin music played when John Watson came down the stairs, already dressed in his shirt and jeans, ready to go. It was 8.30 and he had an appointment at 9.15 with Sarah Sawyer, a general practitioner in a local clinic. He needed to find a job. Mrs. Hudson was a sweet lady, but he wasn't going to abuse her kindness by not paying the rent for the flat. He didn't expect Sherlock to get another job, he seemed to be fixed on the consulting detective job, even when it didn't bring any money in. The "genius" had even tried to decline a five figure cheque yesterday, which John had quickly taken before it was torn. He shook his head. Sherlock might be intelligent, but when it came to social interaction, he had so much to learn and he wasn't sure that he was ready for this interaction with him. He wasn't even sure whether he wanted John around. So why stick around? He had asked himself the question many times over the past month, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. Besides, it was quite interesting to hobble along with his flatmate with his head in the clouds, he could learn things that he never thought he'd learn. The violin music was something he could get used to, even when it woke him up in the middle of the night, the only thing that he wondered about was the voices he sometimes heard early in the morning. Sherlock had never mentioned a girlfriend, but John could swear he had heard a female voice. Without saying a word, he walked into the kitchen, observing the back of his flat mate, who was completely obliviate to the normal world around him, living somewhere completely different, though he didn't know where. He felt the kettle and poured himself a cup of tea. He didn't dare open the fridge door, and therefore just took a cracker from the cupboard and put it in his mouth. Sherlock didn't notice his flatmate coming down apparently and continued to play. After finishing his tea and his cracker, John picked up his bag which he had deposited on the kitchen floor the night before and grabbed his coat from a hanger. He glanced at Sherlock for one last time, but then went downstairs and closed the front door behind him without saying a word.

Not long after John had left, Sherlock put his violin down. He had heard the doctor come down, he wasn't completely deaf, but didn't notice the fact that he had also left, and that he was actually on his own in the flat, that even Mrs. Hudson had gone out to do some grocery shopping. He picked up the sheets of paper and a role of tape, pasting them to the mirror above the hearth. Then he sat down at the table and pulled his laptop towards him, looking for the news of the morning, hoping for something interesting that had found it's way through the usual hubbub of so-called news. It didn't take him long. _"Ghostly Killer leaves a Mystery for Police"_. The killer who can pass through walls. Sherlock grinned, he pulled a stack of post-it's, hidden underneath all kinds of files, towards him and started looking for a pen, but couldn't find one at the moment. He read the article and then looked at the pictures on the mirror. Still no idea which code language. Then he turned back to the post-it's next to the laptop.

'John, could you pass me a pen?'


End file.
